The  Enchanted  Burro 


THE    ENCHANTED    BURRO 


THE 

ENCHANTED 
BURRO 

And  Other  Stories  as  I   Have    Known  Them 
From  Maine  to  Chile  and  California 

BY 
CHARLES  F.  LUMMIS 

AUTHOR  OF 

Strange  Corners  of  Our  Country,  A  Tramp  Across  the  Continent, 

Mexico  Today,  The  Spanish  Pioneers  of  America,  My 

Friend  Will,  Tha  Gold  Fish  of  Gran  Chimu, 

The  Land  of  Poco  Tlempo,  Pueblo 

Indian    Folkstorics, 

etc.,  etc. 

NEW  EDITION 

WITH  MANY  NEW  STORIES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 


Copyright,  1897,  by  Way  &  Williams 

Copyright 

A.  C.   McCLURG  &  CO. 
1912 

Published  September,  1912 


».  3F. 


To 

AMADO 

and 
AMADO 

The   name   that  stood  for  such   a  friend  is   tall 

enough  for  two — 
My  oldest  on  the  old  frontier,  my  newest  on  the 

new. 
Nor  is  it  on  my  heart  to  pray  my  baby^s  feet  be 

spared 
So    rugged  paths   (companioned   so)   as    once   his 

father  fared. 


251145 


Contents 

PAGE 

THE  ENCHANTED  BURRO  (New  Mexico)  1 

THE  MUMMY-MINER  (Peru)         .         .  25 

A  BOY  OF  THE  ANDES  (Peru)     .         .  43 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  MISTI  (Peru)     .  65 

THE  WITCH  DEER  (New  Mexico)        .  85 

FELIPE  s  SUGARING-OFF  (Peru)           .  99 

ANDRES,  THE  ARRIERO  (Bolivia)          .  Ill 

OUR  YELLOW  SLAVE          .         .         .  141 

THE  PEAK  OF  GOLD  (New  Mexico)     .  161 

PABLO'S  DEER  HUNT  (New  Mexico)    .  179 

CANDELARIA'S  CURSE  (New  Mexico)     .  203 

THE  HABIT  OF  THE  FRAILE  (Peru)      .  219 

THE  GREAT  MAGICIAN       .         .         .  241 

THE  SILVER  OMELET  (Mexico)            .  257 

A  DUEL  IN  THE  DESERT  (California)  .  275 
A  'RASTLE  WITH  A  WILDCAT 

(New  England)     .  285 

A  TAME  DEER  (California)          .         .  299 
THE  REBEL  DOUBLE  RUNNER 

(New  England)     .  315 
THE  BALSA  BOY  OF  LAKE  TITI-CACA 

(Bolivia)     .  333 


Illustrations 

PAGE 
THE  ENCHANTED  BURRO        .  Frontispiece 

LELO 17 

THE  HOME  OF  THE  SOROCHE         .         .       55 
IN  TA-BI-RA         .         .         .         .         .179 

"THE  BONES  OF  TA-BI-RA"     .  .  .       186 

THE  PATIO  PROCESS  AT  GUANAJUATO     .     257 
WILDCAT  AND  OWL  IN  DEATH-STRUGGLE     280 


Foreword 


THE  Truly  Clever  know  enough  to 
make  books  of  a  country  by  a  few 
days  of  Pullman  and  hotel — or  even 
by  skimming:  the  public  library  at  home, 
without  the  bother  and  expense  of  travel 
at  all. 

But  the  few  Dullards  now  left  can  arrive 
in  Knowledge  only  by  plodding-;  not  "as 
on  wings  of  eagles"  and  Inspiration,  but  by 
the  drudgery  of  learning. 

It  has  taken  more  than  twenty-five  ardu 
ous  years  to  beat  into  me  what  little  I  hope 
I  know  about  the  Frontiers  of  the  Three 
Americas.  To  learn  several  new  languages 
and  digest  innumerable  old  chronicles  was 
but  one  side  of  the  task:  everywhere,  and 
among  many  peoples,  I  had  to  win  slow 
adoption  from  Stranger  to  Friend ;  to  travel 
footsore  or  saddleweary;  to  share  their 
beds,  their  feasts,  their  famine,  their 
speech,  their  ideas,  their  pleasures  and 


their  hardships — in  fact,  to  live  their  life. 
And  it  was  Life — Human  and  warm,  even 
at  its  rudest. 

Part  of  these  stories,  under  this  same 
title,  were  published  in  1897  by  an  amateur 
firm  which  very  presently  succumbed — 
post  hoc,  indeed,  but  I  trust  noipropter.  So 
the  book  has  been  out  of  print  for  a  dozen 
years.  It  was  very  gently  entreated  by 
critics  and  public  while  its  young*  god 
fathers  lasted. 

I  now  add  five  stories  and  4,000  miles  of 
geography — clear  back  to  my  venerable 
boyhood.  Born  and  bred  a  Yankee,  I 
Escaped  In  Time  (at  23),  and  have  become 
a  much  better  Indian,  New  Mexican,  Mex 
ican,  Peruvian,  Californian  and  composite 
Paisano  of  the  Frontier.  It  may  be  that 
other  graduate  New  Englanders  will  find 
here  some  echo  to  memory  of  what  they 
and  I  used  to  think  we  knew  of  the  Stern 
and  Rockbound,  so  long  ago;  and  that  the 
Unremoved  will  pardon  my  lapses,  in  view 
of  my  enduring  Alibi. 

As  to  anything  this  side  of  New  England, 
I  won't  "either  apologize  or  fight."  This 
part  is  not  remote  and  precarious  memory 
of  the  only  true  Golden  Age — the  Age  when 
we  Haven't  Any — but  the  indelible  auto 
graph  of  thirty  older  years,  scarred  and 


wrinkled  upon  me  inside  and  out.     It  can 
take  care  of  itself. 

Most  of  these  stories,  in  both  instances, 
are  of  episodes  in  which  I  had  some  part. 
Not  all  are  "True  Stories,"  but  all  are 
truthful.  I  hope  that  makes  them  no  duller 
than  if  they  had  been  guessed  out  of  whole 
cloth  and  innocence. 

C.  F.  L. 

Los  ANGELES,  CAL. 


The  Enchanted  Burro 


The   Enchanted   Burro. 


ELO  dropped  the  point  of  his  heavy  irri 
gating1  hoe  and  stood  with  chin  dented 
upon  the  rude  handle,  looking-  intently  to  the 
east.  Around  his  bare  ankles  the  rill  from 
the  acdquia*  eddied  a  moment  and  then 
sucked  through  the  gap  in  the  little  ridge  of 
earth  which  bounded  the  irrigating  bed. 
The  early  sun  was  yellow  as  gold  upon  the 
crags  of  the  mesa\ — that  league-long  front 
of  ragged  cliffs  whose  sandstones,  black- 
capped  by  the  lava  of  the  immemorial  Year 
of  Fire,  here  wall  the  valley  of  the  Rio 
Grande  on  the  west.  Where  a  spur  of  the 
frowning  Kumai  runs  out  is  a  little  bay  in 
the  cliffs;  and  here  the  outermost  fields  of 
Isleta  were  turning  green  with  spring.  The 
young  wheat  swayed  and  whispered  to  the 
water,  whose  scouts  stole  about  amid  the 
stalks,  and  came  back  and  called  their  fel 
lows  forward,  and  spread  hither  and  yon, 

*  Ah-say-kee-ah.    Irrigating  ditch, 
t  May-sab.    Table  land. 


2  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

till  every  green  blade  was  drinking-  and  the 
tide  beg-an  to  creep  up  the  low  boundaries 
at  either  side.  Up  at  the  sluice  g-ate  a  small 
but  eag-er  stream  was  tumbling-  from  the 
big-,  placid  ditch,  and  on  it  came  till  it  struck 
the  tiny  dam  which  closed  the  furrow  just 
beyond  Lelo,  and,  turning,  stole  past  him 
ag-ain  to  join  the  rest  amid  the  wheat.  The 
irrig-ating-  bed,  twenty  feet  square,  filled 
and  filled,  and  suddenly  the  g-athered  pud 
dle  broke  down  a  barrier  and  came  romp 
ing-  into  the  next  bed  without  so  much  as 
saying-  "By  your  leave. "  And  here  it  was 
not  so  friendly ;  for,  forg-etting"  that  it  had 
come  only  to  bring-  a  drink,  it  went  stam 
peding-  about,  knocking-  down  the  tender 
blades  and  half  covering-  them  with  mud. 
At  sound  of  this,  Lelo  seemed  suddenly  to 
waken,  and  lifting- with  his  hoe  the  few  clods 
which  dammed  the  furrow,  he  dropped 
them  into  the  first  g-ap,  and  jumping-  into 
the  second  bed  repaired  its  barrier  also 
with  a  few  strokes.  Then  he  let  in  a  g-en- 
tler  stream  from  the  furrow. 

" Poco,  and  I  should  have  lost  a  bed,'*  he 
said  to  himself,  g-oodnaturedly .  Bias  always 
took  thing's  easy,  and  I  presume  that  is  the 
reason  no  one  ever  called  him  anything-  but 
Lelo*  —  "  Slow-poke  "  —  for  Indian  boys  are 

*  Lay-lo. 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  3 

as  given  to  nicknames  as  are  any  others,  and 
the  mote  had  stuck  to  him  ever  since  its  in 
vention.  He  was  rather  slow  —  this  big, 
powerful  boy,  with  a  round,  heavy  chin  and 
a  face  less  clear-cut  than  was  common  in 
the  pueblo.  Old  'Lipe  had  taken  to  wife  a 
Navajo  captive,  and  all  could  see  that  the 
boy  carried  upon  his  father's  strong-  frame 
the  flatter,  more  stolid  features  of  his 
mother's  nomad  people. 

But  now  the  face  seemed  not  quite  so 
heavy;  for  again  he  was  looking*  toward  the 
pueblo  and  bending  his  head  as  one  who 
listens  for  a  far  whisper.  There  it  came 
again  —  a  faint,  faint  air  which  not  one  of 
us  could  have  heard,  but  to  this  Indian  boy 
it  told  of  shouts  and  mingled  wails. 

"What  will  be?"  cried  Lelo,  stamping 
his  hoe  upon  the  barrier,  and  with  unwonted 
fire  in  his  eyes.  "  For  surely  I  hear  the 
voice  of  women  lamenting,  and  there  are 
men's  shouts  as  in  anger.  Something  heavy 
it  will  be  —  and  perhaps  I  am  needed." 
Splashing  up  to  the  ditch,  he  shut  the  gate 
and  threw  down  his  hoe,  and  a  moment 
later  was  running  toward  Isleta  with  the 
long,  heavy,  tireless  stride  that  was  the 
jest  of  the  other  boys  in  the  rabbit  hunt, 
but  left  Lelo  not  so  very  far  behind  them 
after  all. 


4  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

In  the  pueblo  was,  indeed,  excitement 
enough.  Little  knots  of  the  swart  people 
stood  here  and  there,  talking-  earnestly  but 
low;  in  the  broad,  flat  plaza  were  many  hur 
rying  to  and  fro;  and  in  the  street  beyond 
was  a  great  crowd  about  a  house  whence 
arose  the  long,  wild  wails  of  mourners. 

"  What  is,  tio  Diego?"  asked  Lelo,  stop 
ping  where  a  number  of  men  stood  in 
gloomy  silence.  "What  has  befallen?  For 
even  in  the  milpd*  I  heard  the  cries,  and 
came  running  to  see." 

"It  is  ill,"  answered  the  old  man  he  had 
addressed  as  uncle.  "  It  seems  that  Those 
Above  are  angry  with  us !  For  this  morn 
ing  the  captain  of  war  finds  himself  dead  in 
bed  —  and  scalped  1  And  no  tracks  of  man 
were  about  his  door." 

"Ay,  all  is  ill!"  groaned  a  short,  heavy- 
set  man,  in  a  frayed  blanket.  "  For  yester 
day,  coming  from  the  llano^  with  my  burro,  % 
I  met  a  stranger — a  bdrbaro.  And,  blow 
ing  upon  Paloma,  he  bewitched  the  poor 
beast  so  that  it  sprang  off  the  trail mnd  was 
killed  at  the  bottom  of  the  cliff.  H  lacked 
only  that !  Last  month  it  was  the  raid  of 
the  Cumanche;  and,  though  we  followed 

*J/eeJ-pah.  Field.        fl/yah-no.    Plain. 
JThe   quaint   little    Spanish-American   donkey.    Pro 
nounced  BOO-TO. 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  5 

and  slew  many  of  the  robbers  and  got  back 
many  animals,  yet  mine  were  not  found, 
and  this  was  the  very  last  that  remained 
tome." 

"Pero,  Don  'Colas!"  cried  Lelo,  "your 
burro  I  saw  this  very  morning-  as  I  went  to 
the  field  before  the  sun.  Paloma  it  was, 
with  the  white  face  and  the  white  hind  foot 
— for  do  I  not  know  him  well?  He  was 
passing-  throug-h  the  bushes  under  the  cliffs 
at  the  point,  and  turned  to  look  at  me  as  I 
crossed  the  fields  below." 

"Vayal"  cried  Nicolas,  angrily.  "  Did 
I  not  see  him,  with  these  my  eyes,  jump  the 
cliff  of  two  hundred  feet  yesterday,  and 
with  these  my  hands  feel  him  at  the  foot 
that  he  was  dead?  Go,  with  your  stories  of 
a  stupid,  for " 

But  here  the  alg-uazil,  who  was  one  of  the 
group,  interrupted:  "Lelo  has  no  fool's 
eyes,  and  this  thing- 1  shall  look  into.  Since 
this  morning-,  many  thing's  look  suspicious. 
Come,  show  me  where  fell  thy  burro — for 
to  me  all  these  doing-s  are  cousins  one  to 
another." 

Nicolas,  with  angry  confidence,  accom 
panied  the  broad-shouldered  Indian  sheriff, 
and  their  companions  followed  silently. 
Across  the  adobe-walled  gardens  they 
trudged,  and  into  the  sandy  "draw,"  whose 


6  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

trail  led  along-  the  cliff  and  up  among-  the 
jumble  of  fallen  crag's  at  one  side. 

"Yonder  he  jumped  off,"  said  'Colas, 

"and  fell "  But  even  then  he  rubbed 

his  eyes  and  turned  pale.  For  where  he 
had  left  the  limp,  bleeding-  carcass  of  poor 
Paloma  only  twenty-four  hours  before, 
there  was  now  nothing-  to  be  seen.  Only, 
upon  a  rock,  were  a  few  red  blotches. 

"What  is  this!"  demanded  the  alg-uazil, 
sternly.  "Hast  thou  hidden  him  away? 
Claro  that  something-  fell  here — for  there  is 
blood  and  a  tuft  of  hair  upon  yon  stone. 
But  where  is  the  burro?" 

"How  should  I  hide  him,  since  he  was 
dead  as  the  rocks?  It  is  witchcraft,  I  tell 
you  —  for  see  1  There  are  no  tracks  of  him 
g-oing-  away,  even  where  the  earth  is  soft. 
And  for  the  coyotes  and  wildcats  —  they 
would  have  left  his  bones.  The  Gentile  I 
met  —  he  is  the  witch.  First  he  g-ave  the 
evil  eye  to  my  poor  beast,  that  it  killed  it 
self;  and  now  he  has  flown  away  in  its  shape 
to  do  other  ills." 

"  It  can  be  so, "  mused  the  sheriff,  gravely; 
"  but  in  the  meantime  there  is  no  remedy  — 
I  have  to  answer  to  the  Fathers  of  Medicine 
for  you  who  bring-  such  stories  of  dead 
burros,  but  cannot  show  them.  For,  I  tell 
you,  this  has  something-  to  say  for  the  deed 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  7 

that  was  done  in  the  pueblo  this  morning-. 
Alcalaboz!" 

Half  an  hour  later,  poor  Nicolas  was 
squatted  disconsolately  upon  the  bare  floor 
of  the  adobe  jail  —  that  simple  prison  from 
which  no  one  of  the  simple  prisoners  ever 
thinks  to  dig-  out.  It  is  not  so  much  the 
clay  wall  that  holds  them,  as  the  authority 
of  law,  which  no  Pueblo  ever  yet  questioned. 

"  'Colas's  burro "  was  soon  in  every 
mouth.  The  strang-e  story  of  its  death 
and  its  reappearance  to  Lelo  were  not  to  be 
mocked  at.  So  it  used  to  be,  that  the  ani 
mals  were  as  people;  and  every  one  knew 
that  there  were  witches  still  who  took  the 
forms  of  brutes  and  flew  by  nig-ht  to  work 
mischief.  Perhaps  it  was  some  wizard  of 
the  Cumanche  who  thus,  by  the  aid  of  the 
evil  ones,  was  avenging-  the  long--haired 
horse-thieves  who  had  fallen  at  Tajique.* 
And  now  Pascual,  returning-  from  a  ranch 
across  the  river,  made  known  that,  sitting- 
upon  his  roof  all  nig-ht  to  think  of  the  year, 
he  had  been  aware  of  a  burro  that  passed 
down  the  street  even  to  the  house  of  the 
war  captain;  after  which  he  had  noticed  it 
no  more.  Clearly,  then! 

Some  even  thoug-ht  that  Lelo  should  be 
imprisoned,  since  he  had  seen  the  burro  in 


8  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

the  morning'.  And  when,  searching-  anew, 
they  found  in  a  splinter  of  the  captain's 
door  a  long-,  coarse,  gray  hair,  every  man 
looked  about  him  suspiciously.  But  there 
was  no  other  clew  —  save  that  Francisco, 
the  cleverest  of  hunters,  called  the  officials 
to  a  little  corner  of  the  street,  where  the 
people  had  not  crowded,  and  pointed  to 
some  dim  marks  in  the  sand. 

"  Que  importa?  "  said  the  gray  haired 
g-overnor,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  as  he 
leaned  on  his  staff  of  office  and  looked  close 
ly.  "  In  Isleta  there  are  two  thousand  bur 
ros,  and  their  paths  are  everywhere." 

"  But  see !  "  persisted  the  trailer.  "  Are 
they  like  this?  For  this  brute  was  lame  in 
all  the  leg's,  so  that  his  feet  fell  over  to  the 
inside  a  little,  instead  of  coming-  flatly  down. 
It  will  be  the  Enchanted  Burro!  " 

"Ahul"  cried  Lelo,who  stood  by.  "And 
this  morning-  when  I  passed  the  burro  of 
Don  'Colas  in  the  bushes,  I  saw  that  it  was 
laming-  along-  as  if  its  leg's  were  stiff." 

By  now  no  one  doubted  that  there  was 
witchcraft  afoot,  and  the  officials  whose  place 
it  is  were  taking-  active  measures  to  pre 
serve  the  pueblo.  The  cacique  sat  in  his 
closed  house  fasting-  and  praying,  with 
ashes  upon  his  head.  The  Cum-pa-huit-la- 
wenwere  running  here  and  therewith  their 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  9 

sacred  bows  and  arrows,  prying-  into  every 
corner,  if  haply  they  might  find  a  witch.  In 
the  house  of  mourning-  the  Shamans  were 
blinding-  the  eyes  of  the  ghosts,  that  none 
might  follow  the  trail  of  the  dead  captain 
and  do  him  harm  before  he  should  reach 
the  safe  other  world.  And  in  the  medicine 
house  the  Father  of  All  Medicine  was  blow 
ing  the  slow  smoke  across  the  sacred  bowl, 
to  read  in  that  magic  mirror  the  secrets  of 
the  whole  world. 

But  in  spite  of  everything,  a  curse  seemed 
to  have  fallen  upon  the  peaceful  town.  Lu- 
cero,  the  third  assistant  war  captain,  did 
not  return  with  his  flock,  and  when  search 
ers  went  to  the  llano^  they  found  him  lying 
by  a  chapparo  bush  dead,  and  his  sheep 
gone.  But  worst  of  all,  he  was  scalped,  and 
all  the  wisdom  of  that  cunning  head  had 
been  carried  away  to  enrich  the  mysterious 
foe  —  for  the  soul  and  talents  of  an  Indian 
go  with  his  hair,  according  to  Indian  belief. 
And  in  a  day  or  two  came  running  Antonio 
Peralta  to  the  pueblo,  gray  as  the  dead  and 
without  his  blanket.  Herding  his  father's 
horses  back  of  the  Accursed  Hill,  he  sat 
upon  a  block  of  lava  to  watch  them.  As 
they  grazed,  a  lame  burro  came  around  the 
hill  grazing  toward  them.  And  when  it  was 
among  them,  they  suddenly  raised  their 


io  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

heads  in  fear  and  snorted  and  turned  to 
run;  but  the  burro,  rising  like  a  mountain 
lion,  sprang-  upon  one  of  them  and  fastened 
on  its  neck,  and  all  the  herd  stampeded  to 
the  west,  the  accursed  burro  still  perched 
upon  its  victim  and  tearing-  it.  Ay !  a  gray 
burro,y0z>m?,*  and  with  a  white  foot  behind. 
Antonio  had  his  musket,  but  he  dared  not 
fire  after  this  witch  beast.  And  here  were 
twelve  more  good  horses  gone  of  what  the 
Cumanche  robbers  had  left. 

By  now  the  whole  pueblo  was  wrought  to 
the  highest  tension.  That  frightful  doubt 
which  seizes  a  people  oppressed  by  super 
natural  fears  brooded  everywhere.  No  man 
but  was  sure  that  the  man  he  hated  was 
mixed  up  in  the  witchcraft;  no  man  who 
was  disliked  by  any  one  but  felt  the  finger 
of  suspicion  pointing  at  him.  People  grew 
dumb  and  moody,  and  looked  at  each  other 
from  the  corner  of  the  eye  as  they  passed 
without  even  a  kindly  "  Hina-kti-fiviu, 
neighbor."  As  for  work,  that  was  almost 
forgotten,  though  the  fields  cried  out  for 
care.  No  one  dared  take  a  flock  to  the  llano, 
and  few  went  even  to  their  gardens.  There 
were  medicine  makings  every  night  to  ex 
orcise  the  evil  spirits,  and  the  Shamans 
worked  wonders,  and  the  medicine  guards 

*Ho-wzy-ro.    Blaze-face. 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  n 

prowled  high  and  low  for  witches.  The 
cacique  sat  always  in  his  house,  seeing1  no 
one,  nor  eating-,  but  torturing-  his  flesh  for 
the  safety  of  his  people. 

And  still  there  was  no  salvation.  Not  a 
night  went  by  but  some  new  outrag-e  befell. 
Now  it  was  a  swooping  away  of  herds, 
now  some  man  of  the  wisest  and  bravest 
was  slain  and  scalped  in  his  bed.  And  al 
ways  there  were  no  more  tracks  than  those 
of  a  burro,  stiff-kneed,  whose  hoofs  did  not 
strike  squarely  upon  the  ground.  Many, 
also,  caught  glimpses  of  the  Enchanted 
Burro  as  they  peered  at  midnight  from 
their  dark  windows.  Sometimes  he  plodded 
mournfully  along  the  uncertain  streets,  as 
burros  do;  but  some  vowed  that  he  came 
down  suddenly  from  the  sky,  as  alighting 
from  a  long  flight.  Without  a  doubt,  old 
Melo  had  seen  the  brute  walk  up  the  ladder 
of  Ambrosio's  house  the  very  night  Am- 
brosio  was  found  dead  in  the  little  lookout 
room  upon  his  own  roof.  And  a  burro 
which  could  climb  a  ladder  could  certain- 
lyfly. 

On  the  fourth  day  Lelo  could  stand  it  no 
longer.  "I  am  going  to  the  field,"  he  said, 
" before  the  wheat  dies.  For  it  is  as  well 
to  be  eaten  by  the  witches  now  as  that  we 


12  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

should  starve  to  death  next  winter,  when 
there  will  be  nothing  to  eat." 

"What  folly  is  this?"  cried  the  neigh 
bors.  "Does  Lelo  think  he  is  stronger  than 
the  ghosts?  Let  him  stay  behind  those 
who  are  more  men." 

But  Lelo  had  another  trait,  quite  as 
marked  as  his  slowness  and  good  nature. 
When  his  deliberate  mind  was  made  up 
there  was  no  turning  him ;  and,  though  he 
was  as  terrified  as  anyone  by  the  awful 
happenings  of  the  week,  he  had  decided  to 
attend  to  his  field.  So  he  only  answered 
the  taunts  with  a  stolid,  respectful:  "No,  I 
do  not  put  myself  against  the  ghosts.  But 
perhaps  they  will  let  me  alone,  knowing 
that  my  mother  has  now  no  one  else  to  feed 
her." 

The  flat-faced  mother  brought  him  two 
tortillas*  for  lunch ;  and  putting  her  hands 
upon  his  shoulders,  looked  at  him  a  moment 
from  wet  eyes,  saying  not  a  word.  And 
slinging  over  his  shoulder  the  bow-case  and 
quiver,  Lelo  trudged  away. 

He  plodded  along  the  crooked  meadow 
road,  white-patched  here  and  there  with 
crystals  of  alkali ;  j  umped  the  main  irrigat 
ing  ditch  with  a  great  bound,  and  took 
"across  lots"  over  the  adobe  fences  and 

*  Tor-te«l-yaz.    Unleavened  cakes  of  corn  meal. 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  13 

through  the  vineyards  and  the  orchards  of 
apple,  peach  and  apricot. 

In  the  farther  edge  of  the  last  orchard 
stood  a  tiny  adobe  house,  where  old  Reyes 
had  lived  in  the  summer-time  to  guard  her 
ripening  fruits.  Since  her  death  it  had  been 
abandoned,  with  the  garden,  and  next  sum 
mer  the  Indian  congress  could  allot  it  to 
any  one  who  asked,  since  it  would  have 
been  left  untilled  for  five  years.  The 
house  was  half  hidden  from  sight — over 
shadowed  on  one  side  by  ancient  pear  trees 
and  on  the  other  by  the  black  cliffs  of  an 
advance  guard  of  the  lava  flow. 

As  he  passed  the  ruined  hut  Lelo  sud 
denly  stooped  and  began  looking  anxiously 
at  a  footprint  in  the  soft  earth.  "That  was 
from  no  moccasin  of  the  Tee-wahn,"  he 
muttered  to  himself,  "for  the  sole  is  flatter 
than  ours.  And  it  comes  out  of  the  house, 
where  no  one  ever  goes,  now  that  Grand 
mother  Reyes  is  dead.  But  this!  For  in 
three  steps  it  is  no  more  the  foot  of  a  man, 
but  of  a  beast — going  even  to  the  bushes 
where  I  saw  the  Enchanted  Burro  that 
morning" — and  all  of  a  tremble,  Lelo 
leaned  up  against  the  wall  of  the  house.  It 
was  all  he  could  do  to  keep  from  turning 
and  bolting  for  home — and  you  need  not 
laugh  at  him.  The  bow-case  at  his  side 


14  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

was  from  the  tawny  mountain  lion  Lelo  had 
slain  with  his  own  hands  in  the  canons  of 
the  Tetilla ;  and  when  Ref  ligio,  the  youngest 
medicine-man,  fell  wounded  in  the  fore 
front  of  the  fight  at  Tajique,  it  was  Lelo 
who  had  lumbered  forward  and  brought 
him  away  in  his  arms,  saving-  his  life  and 
hair  from  the  Cumanche  knife.  But  it  takes 
a  braver  man  to  stand  against  his  own 
superstitions  than  to  face  wild  beast  or 
wilder  savage;  and  now,  though  Lelo  did 
not  flee,  his  knees  smote  together  and  the 
blood  seemed  to  have  left  his  head  dry  and 
over-light.  He  sat  down,  so  weak  was  he ; 
and,  with  back  against  the  wall,  he  tried  to 
gather  his  scattered  thoughts. 

At  that  very  moment,  if  Lelo  had  turned 
his  head  a  very  little  more  to  the  left  and 
looked  at  one  particular  rift  in  the  thorny 
greasewoods  that  choked  the  foot  of  the 
cliff,  he  might  have  seen  two  dark,  hungry 
eyes  fixed  upon  him;  but  Lelo  was  not  look 
ing  that  way  so  much  as  to  the  corner  of 
the  cliff.  There  he  would  have  to  pass  to 
the  field;  and  it  was  just  around  that  cor 
ner  that  he  had  seen  the  Enchanted  Burro. 
"And  there  also  I  have  seen  the  mouth  of  a 
cave,  where  they  say  the  ogres  used  to 
live  and  where  no  one  dares  to  enter  " — and 
he  shivered  again,  like  one  half  frozen. 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  15 

Then  he  did  look  back  to  the  left,  but  saw 
nothing,  for  the  eyes  were  no  longer  there. 
Only,  a  few  rods  farther  to  the  left,  and 
where  Lelo  could  not  see  for  the  wall  at  his 
back,  the  tall,  white  ears  of  a  burro  were 
moving-  quietly  along-  in  the  bushes,  which 
hid  the  rest  of  its  body.  Now  and  then  the 
animal  stopped  and  cocked  up  its  ears,  as  if 
to  listen;  and  its  eyes  rose  over  the  bush, 
shining"  with  a  deep,  strange  light.  Just 
beyond  was  the  low  adobe  wall  which  sep 
arated  Reyes's  garden  from  the  next — run 
ning  from  the  foot  of  the  cliff  down  past  the 
old  house. 

To  go  on  to  the  field  needed  even  more 
courage  than  to  keep  from  fleeing  for  home; 
and  stubborn  as  he  was,  Lelo  was  trying  to 
muster  up  legs  and  heart  to  proceed.  He 
even  rose  to  his  feet  and  drew  back  his 
elbows  fiercely,  straining  the  muscles  of  his 
chest,  where  there  seemed  to  be  such  a 
weight.  Just  around  the  corner  of  the 
house,  at  that  same  moment,  a  burro's 
head,  with  white  ears  and  a  blazed  face, 
rose  noiselessly  above  the  adobe  fence,  and 
seeing  nothing,  a  pair  of  black  hoofs  came 
up,  and  in  a  swift  bound  the  animal  was 
over  the  wall — so  lightly  that  even  the 
sharp  Indian  ears  not  fifteen  feet  away 
heard  nothing  of  it. 


1 6  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

But  if  Lelo  did  not  notice,  a  sharper 
watcher  did.  "  Kay-e6-iu'>yoo  /"  cried  a 
complaining-  voice,  and  a  brown  bird  with 
broad  wing's  and  a  big1,  round  head  went 
fluttering-  from  its  perch  on  the  roof.  Lelo 
started  violently,  and  then  smiled  at  him 
self.  "It  is  only  tecolote"  he  muttered, 
uthe  little  owl  that  lives  with  the  tusas* 
and  they  say  he  is  very  wise.  To  see 
where  he  went." 

The  boy  stole  around  the  corner  of  the 
house,  but  the  owl  was  nowhere  to  be  seen, 
and  he  started  back. 

As  he  turned  the  angle  again,  he  caught 
sight  of  a  burro's  head  just  peeping  from 
around  the  other  corner;  and  Lelo  felt  the 
blood  sinking  from  his  face.  The  beast 
gave  a  little  start  and  then  dropped  its 
head  to  a  bunch  of  alfalfa  that  was  green  at 
the  corner.  But  this  did  not  relieve  Lelo's 
terror.  It  was  Paloma — dead  Paloma  — 
now  the  Witch  Burro.  There  was  no  mis 
taking  that  jovero  face.  And  plain  it  was, 
too,  that  this  was  no  longer  burro-true,  but 
one  of  the  accursed  spirits  in  burro  shape. 
Those  eyes!  They  seemed,  in  that  swift 
flash  in  which  they  had  met  Lelo's,  to  be 
sunk  far,  far  into  the  skull;  and  he  was 
sure  that  deep  in  them  he  saw  a  dull  gleam 

*  Prairie  dogs. 


LELO 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  17 

of  red.  And  the  ears  and  head  —  they  were 
touched  with  death,  too!  Their  skin  seemed 
hard  and  ridgy  as  a  rawhide,  instead  of  fit 
ting-  as  the  skin  does  in  life.  So,  also,  was 
the  neck;  but  no  more  was  to  be  seen  for 
the  angle  of  the  wall. 

There  are  men  who  die  at  seventy  with 
out  having-  lived  so  long-  or  suffered  so  much 
as  Lelo  lived  and  suff ered  in  those  few  sec 
onds.  His  breath  refused  to  come,  and  his 
muscles  seemed  paralyzed.  This,  then, 
was  the  Enchanted  Burro  —  the  witch  that 
had  slain  the  captain  of  war,  and  his  lieu 
tenants,  and  many  more.  And  now  he  was 
come  for  Lelo  —  for  thoug-h  he  nosed  the 
alfalfa,  one  grim  eye  was  always  on  the 
boy.  So,  no  doubt,  he  had  watched  his 
other  victims  —  but  from  behind,  for  not 
one  of  them  had  ever  moved.  And  with 
that  thoug-ht  a  sudden  rush  of  blood  came 
pricking  like  needles  in  Lelo's  head. 

"No  one  of  them  saw  him,  else  they  had 
surely  fought!  And  shall  I  give  myself  to 
him  like  a  sheep?  Not  if  he  were  ten 
witches ! "  And  with  the  one  swift  motion 
of  all  his  life,  the  lad  dropped  on  one  knee, 
even  as  hand  and  hand  clapped  notch  to 
bowstring,  and,  in  a  mighty  tug,  drew  the 
arrow  to  the  head. 


1 8  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

Lightning-like  as  was  his  move,  the  burro 
understood,  and  hastily  reared  back  —  but 
a  hair  too  late.  The  agate-tipped  shaft 
struck  midway  of  its  neck  with  a  loud  tap 
as  upon  a  drum,  and  bored  through  and 
through  till  the  feathers  touched  the  skin. 
The  animal  sprang  high  in  air,  with  so 
wild  and  hideous  a  scream  as  never  came 
from  burro's  throat  before,  and  fell  back 
amid  the  alfalfa,  floundering  and  pawing  at 
its  neck. 

But  Lelo  had  waited  for  no  more.  Al 
ready  he  was  over  the  wrall  and  running  like 
a  scared  mustang,  the  bow  gripped  in  his 
left  hand,  his  right  clutching  the  bow-case, 
whose  tawny  tail  leaped  and  fluttered  be 
hind  him.  One-Eyed  Quico  could  have 
made  it  to  the  pueblo  no  faster  than  the 
town  slow-poke,  who  burst  into  the  plaza 
and  the  porch  of  the  governor's  house, 
gasping : 

"  The  Enchanted  Burro  !  I  have—  killed 
—  him!" 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  new  war  cap 
tain,  the  medicine  men,  the  governor,  and 
half  the  rest  of  the  men  of  the  pueblo  were 
entering  Reyes's  garden,  and  Lelo  was  al 
lowed  to  walk  with  the  -principales.  All  were 
very  grave,  and  some  a  little  pale  —  for  it 
was  no  laughing1  matter  to  meddle  with  the 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  19 

fiend,  even  after  he  was  dead.  There  lay 
the  burro,  motionless.  No  pool  of  blood  was 
around;  but  the  white  feathers  of  the  ar 
row  had  turned  red.  Cautiously  they  ap 
proached,  till  suddenly  Francisco,  the  sharp 
est  eyed  of  trailers,  dashed  forward  and 
caught  up  the  two  hind  leg's  from  amid  the 
alfalfa,  crying-: 

"Said  I  not  that  he  tipped  the  hoofs? 
With  reason  1" 

For  from  each  ankle  five  dark,  naked  toes 
projected  through  a  slit  in  the  hide. 

"Ay,  well  bewitched!"  exclaimed  the 
war  captain.  "  Pull  me  the  other  side  !  " 
And  at  their  tug-  the  belly  of  the  burro 
parted  lengthwise,  showing-  only  a  stiff, 
dried  skin,  and  inside  the  cavity  a  swart 
body  stripped  to  the  breech-clout.  Along 
side  lay  arrows  and  a  strong-  bow  of  buffalo 
horn,  with  a  light  copper  hatchet  and  a  keen 
scalping  knife. 

"  Sdcalo!^  ordered  the  war  captain  ;  but 
it  was  easier  said  than  done.  They  bent 
the  stubborn  rawhide  well  apart ;  but  not 
until  one  had  run  his  knife  up  the  neck  of 
the  skin  and  cut  both  ends  of  Lelo's  arrow 
could  they  haul  out  the  masquerader.  The 
shaft  had  passed  through  his  throat  from 
side  to  side,  pinning  it  to  the  rawhide,  and 
there  he  had  died. 


2O  The  Enchanted  Burro. 

When  the  slippery  form  was  at  last 
dragged  forth,  and  they  saw  its  face,  there 
was  a  startled  murmur  through  the  crowd; 
for  even  without  the  long  scalp  lock  and  the 
vermilion  face-paint,  there  were  many  there 
who  would  have  known  the  Cumanche  med 
icine  man,  whose  brother  was  the  chief  that 
fell  at  Tajique.  He,  too,  had  been  taken 
prisoner,  and  had  taunted  his  captors  and 
promised  to  pay  them,  and  in  the  night  had 
escaped,  leaving  one  sentinel  dead  and  an 
other  wounded. 

The  Enchanted  Burro  was  all  very  plain 
now.  The  plains  conjurer,  knowing-  well 
by  habit  how  to  play  on  superstitious  fears, 
had  used  poor  Paloma  as  the  instrument  of 
his  revenge  —  hiding  the  carcass  and  dry 
ing  the  skin  quickly  on  a  frame  with  hot 
ashes,  so  that  it  stood  perfectly  in  shape  by 
itself.  The  bones  of  the  fore  legs  he  had 
left  in,  to  be  managed  with  his  hands ;  and 
in  the  dark  or  amid  grass,  no  one  would 
have  noticed  the  peculiarity  of  the  hind 
legs.  He  had  only  to  pry  open  the  slit  in 
the  belly  and  crawl  in,  and  the  stiff  hide 
closed  after  him.  Thus  he  had  wreaked  the 
vengeance  for  which,  uncompanioned,  he 
had  followed  the  Pueblos  back  to  their  vil 
lage.  In  the  cave  behind  the  greasewoods 
were  the  scalps  of  his  victims,  drying  on 


The  Enchanted  Burro.  21 

little  willow  hoops  ;  but  instead  of  going*  to 
deck  a  Cumanche  lodg-e  in  the  great  plains, 
they  were  tenderly  buried  in  the  old  church 
yard,  restored  to  their  proper  owners. 

After  all  these  years  there  still  are  in  the 
pueblo  many  tales  of  the  Enchanted  Burro, 
nothing-  lost  by  the  re-telling-.  As  for  the 
skin  itself,  it  lies  moth-eaten  in  the  dark 
storeroom  of  the  man  who  has  been  first 
assistant  war  captain  for  twenty  years, 
beginning-  his  novitiate  the  very  day  he 
finished  a  witch  and  a  Cumanche  with  a 
single  arrow. 


The  Mummy  Miner 


The  Mummy  Miner. 


r  I  ^HERE  was  certainly  nothing-  suggest- 
J.  ivfc  of  antiquity  about  Faquito's  ap 
pearance.  His  droll,  brown  face,  his  thick 
set  boyish  fig-ure  and  the  alarming-  tatters 
of  his  scant  apparel  were  all  undignified  as 
his  name  —  which  had  g-ot  to  the  most  dis 
respectful  distance  possible  from  the  state 
ly  Francisco  of  the  baptismal  font.  There 
could  be  no  worthier  name  for  a  boy  of 
Peru  than  that  worn  by  the  great  conquista 
dor  Pizarro.  But  it  is  hard  to  live  up  to  the 
dignity  of  the  christening-,  and  Francisco 
deg-enerates  into  Francisquito,  which  is 
fond ;  and  then  to  Franco,  which  is  familiar ; 
and  finally  to  Faquito,  which  is  positively 
rude.  Probably  it  never  occurred  to  the 
lad  to  be  comforted  with  thinking-  that  the 
greatest  conqueror  of  the  Americas  was 
called  Faquito,  too,  when  he  was  herding- 
his  pigs  in  Truxillo ;  and  that  if  one  Faquo 
could  grow  up  to  be  Don  Francisco,  so 


26  The  Mummy   Miner. 

might  another.  These  consolations  of  phil 
osophy  never  do  come  to  us  until  we  are  too 
old  to  need  them  so  much. 

But  perhaps  you  are  thinking-:  "Well, 
why  should  a  twelve-year-old  cholo  boy  look 
antiquated?  Are  lads  of  that  age  in  Peru 
expected  to  be  ancient,  any  more  than  in 
New  York  or  Boston?" 

N-no,  not  exactly  that  —  though  in  the 
quick  tropics  a  boy  is  older  at  twelve  than 
is  one  of  the  same  years  in  the  temperate 
zone;  bigger  and  more  mature.  But  it  was 
Faquito's  occupation  rather  than  his  age 
which  made  me  think  of  him  as  rather  para 
doxical.  You  will  admit  that  to  find  this 
irresponsible,  twinkling  face  set  in  one  of 
the  most  century-worn  frames  on  earth 
might  well  seem  incongruous,  not  to  say 
startling.  The  sight  of  this  half  Spanish, 
half  Indian*  boy  of  to-day,  playing  with 
lives  and  thoughts  that  were  forgotten  five 
hundred  years  ago  —  aye,  and  some  of  them, 
perhaps,  that  long  before  the  Old  World 
dreamed  there  was  a  New  —  was  enough 
to  make  any  explorer  rub  his  eyes. 

Doubtless  we  shall  understand  each  other 
better  by  a  little  translation.  Huaco  is  a 
word  not  found  in  the  Spanish  dictionaries, 
for  it  belongs  only  to  Peru.  It  is  from  the 

*  For  that  is  what  chol>  means. 


The  Mummy   Miner.  27 

Quichua,  or  speech  of  the  Incas,  of  whom 
you  have  heard  so  many  remarkable  (and 
not  very  accurate)  stories ;  and  as  adopted 
into  the  Spanish  of  Peru  means  specifically 
a  relic  of  the  ancient  Indian  "  civilizations  " 
which  occupied  this  strang-e  land  before  the 
coming-  of  Europeans.  Huaquero  is  the 
Spanish  derivative  to  mean  a  digg-er  of 
these  antiquities  —  in  other  words,  a  mum 
my  miner.  This  is  a  reg-ular  profession  in 
Peru,  just  as  much  as  g-old  mining-.  A 
competent  huaquero  commands  as  g-ood 
wag-es  as  a  skilled  laborer  in  the  marvelous 
silver  mountain  of  Cerro  de  Pasco ;  and,  if 
he  works  "on  his  own  hook,"  may  earn 
much  more.  Peru  is  dotted  everywhere 
with  the  ruins  of  larg-e  towns  of  the  Incas 
and  other  tribes  —  some  of  them  that  we 
have  so  long-  been  taug-ht  to  reg-ard  as 
"king-s"  and  the  like,  while  in  fact  they 
were  tribes  very  much  like  the  Pueblo 
Indians  of  New  Mexico;  remarkably  ad 
vanced  in  some  thing's,  but  still  entirely 
Indians  socially,  politically  and  mentally. 
Some  of  these  ruins  have  been  deserted  for 
uncounted  centuries,  and  no  man  can  say 
who  built  them  nor  when  they  were  aban 
doned.  In  fact,  Peru  is  the  American 
Egypt  in  antiquity ;  and  a  more  than  Egypt 
in  richness.  It  was  in  its  time  the  richest 


28  The  Mummy  Miner. 

country  in  the  world.  Even  before  Euro 
peans  came  to  tap  its  peaks  of  silver  and 
valleys  of  gold,  the  ancient  Peruvians  had 
discovered  a  way  to  treat  the  precious 
metals,  and  used  them  to  adorn  themselves 
and  their  temples.  Like  the  Indians  they 
were,  they  had  the  invariable  Indian  idea  of 
the  next  world;  and  always  buried  with  their 
dead  the  best  clothing-  and  other  property,  to 
give  the  wanderer  a  handsome  start  beyond 
the  grave  —  precisely  as  our  aborigines  do 
still.  And  as  the  dryness  of  the  Peruvian 
desert  preserves  mummies  indefinitely 
through  the  ages,  you  will  begin  to  see  how 
mummy  mining  has  become  one  of  the  im 
portant  industries  of  Peru.  There  are 
mummies  everywhere;  and  each  mummy 
has  still  what  was  its  wealth  in  life.  The 
gold  and  silver  trinkets,  the  exquisite  cloths 
and  potteries  of  these  strange  folk  of  old, 
and  all  the  other  relics  of  their  handiwork, 
fetch  high  prices  from  museums  and  col 
lectors. 

So  that  was  Faquo's  business — and  a  very 
hard  and  unpleasant  business  it  is.  Taita* 
Pedro  should  have  provided  for  his  family; 
but  taita  Pedro  much  preferred  to  lie 
around  the  great  sugar  plantation  in  the 
next  valley  beyond  the  arm  of  desert,  and 

Papa. 


The  Mummy  Miner.  29 

keep  his  swarthy  hide  full  of  the  cheap  rum 
which  is  the  last  and  worst  gif  t  of  the  sugar 
cane.  He  never  came  home  to  the  little 
cabin  at  Lurin  —  a  hut  of  quincha,  or  wat 
tled  bamboos  plastered  with  adobe — except 
to  get  money.  Poor,  fat  Maria  would  have 
had  a  very  rough  time  caring  for  her  fat 
brood,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Faquito.  She 
worked  in  the  cane  fields  of  the  nearer  ha 
cienda,  and  washed  for  the  priest;  but  the 
few  reales  she  could  earn  would  not  have 
been  enough  to  put  a  cotton  shirt  on  half 
the  backs  she  was  responsible  for,  after 
feeding  all  the  mouths.  Mariquita  was  a 
perfect  little  woman  for  ten  years  old ;  but 
she  could  only  attend  to  the  babies  —  which 
was  indeed  contract  enough  for  a  much 
older  nurse.  So  it  had  been  a  great  relief 
when  Faquo  got  big  enough  to  be  a  pro 
ducer —  with  the  equal  good  fortune  that 
the  sandy  headland  only  two  miles  away 
was  crowned  by  the  mighty  ruins  of  Pacha- 
camac. 

Every  day,  except  Sundays  and  fiestas, 
Faquito  was  early  trudging  the  dusty  road 
to  the  ruins,  his  spade  over  his  shoulder, 
his  fat  face  screwed  up  sometimes  to  whistle 
a  doleful  yaravi  (the  only  air  he  knew),  or 
as  often  equally  twisted  with  munching 
sugar  cane.  It  was  very  convenient  to 


30  The  Mummy  Miner. 

have  one's  candy  growing-  by  the  roadside 
—  particularly  as  there  were  no  stores.  All 
a  boy  had  to  do  was  to  clamber  over  the 
adobe  wall,  cut  a  stalk  of  the  caiia  dulcc 
from  amid  its  dense  bristle  of  sword  leaves, 
and  clamber  back  to  chew  upon  this  pithy 
molasses  candy  at  leisure.  There  was 
generally  a  culm  in  Faquito's  hand  as  he 
trudged  across;  and  when  he  got  tired  of 
chewing  the  obstinate  fiber,  he  would  rest 
his  jaws  with  whistling. 

When  he  had  crossed  the  flat,  and  waded 
the  shallow  brook  of  Lurin,  there  was  a 
great  scramble  up  the  precipitous  bluff 
which  is  the  j  umping-off  place  of  the  desert ; 
and  even  Faquo  was  always  puffing  hard  by 
the  time  he  came  to  the  top.  An  ancient 
wall  was  there ;  and  under  the  long,  morn 
ing  shadow  of  this  he  used  to  sit  down  a 
moment  —  partly  for  a  bit  of  a  rest,  and 
partly  because  he  liked  to  gaze  upon  that 
strange  vista  in  the  hot,  level  light.  Behind 
was  the  lovely  valley,  dense  green  with 
tropic  cane-fields  and  bananas  and  palms; 
but  in  front  was  the  great,  gray  desert,  un 
spotted  by  one  living-  blade.  On  the  rolling 
sand  hills  close  before  him  was  a  wild,  mys 
terious  huddle  of  mighty  walls,  tall  and 
broken  and  gray  in  the  sunlight,  with  black 
shadows  lurking  in  their  angles  —  walls  and 


The  Mummy   Miner.  31 

walls  in  a  bewildering-  labyrinth.  At  his 
left  was  the  huge  castle  on  its  tall  head 
land,  boxed  about  with  tier  after  tier  of 
walls  thirty  feet  high;  and  in  front  of  him 
the  central  hill,  crowned  with  an  enormous 
building-.  In  a  hollow  at  the  foot  of  the 
castle,  fifty  acres  were  thick-dotted  with 
dark,  irregular  holes,  around  which  thou 
sands  of  white  specks  gleamed  in  the  sun. 
Momently,  too,  little  puffs  of  dust  flew  up 
here  and  there.  Castro  and  Juan  and  Pan- 
cho,  the  grown-up  huaqueros  from  Lima, 
were  already  at  work  down  there  amid  the 
bleaching  skulls,  each  at  the  bottom  of  his 
dusty  shaft,  hoping  at  any  moment  to  find  a 
rich  tomb  —  perhaps  even  the  "Big  Fish  " 
of  Peruvian  folk  lore.  That  is  what  Faquito 
was  dreaming  about,  too.  How  many  times 
he  had  heard  of  the  hundreds  of  man-loads 
of  gold  that  the  Yuncas  buried  in  Pacha- 
camac  when  Hernando  Pizarro  came  prick 
ing  down  from  the  mountains,  every  horse 
of  his  cavalcade  shod  with  silver ! 

If  he  could  only  find  the  Pez  Grande!  Or 
even  the  tail  of  it !  He  got  up  from  under 
the  wall  with  a  sigh  and  started  down  the 
dusty  trail  toward  where  the  men  were  at 
work.  His  "  mine  "  was  there  too  —  where 
he  had  dug  a  week  without  finding  any  but 
the  poorest  graves. 


32  The  Mummy  Miner. 

Just  then  an  owl — the  little  brown  owl  of 
the  desert — flew  up  almost  at  his  very  feet 
and  alighted  upon  a  wall  a  few  rods  away. 
How  Mariquita  would  like  it  for  a  pet! 
Faquo  crept  up  behind  the  wall;  but  just 
as  he  was  about  to  clap  his  hat  over  the  bird 
it  fluttered  off  a  few  rods  farther. 

It  was  so  stupid  with  the  sun  that  Faquo 
felt  sure  he  would  get  it  this  time,  and 
again  he  crept  up.  But  stupid  as  the  owl 
was,  it  was  just  too  smart  for  Faquo.  A 
dozen  times  it  was  almost  in  his  hands;  but 
a  dozen  times,  too,  it  fluttered  away  again — 
until  it  had  led  him  up  the  central  hill, 
through  the  great  ruined  building  th ere,  and 
down  the  other  side. 

At  the  foot  of  an  adobe  wall  sixty  feet  high 
it  settled  upon  the  edge  of  some  deep- 
sunken  rooms.  Faquo  scrambled  down  a 
gap  and  stole  out  along  the  parapet;  and 
suddenly  reaching  up  from  this  shelter 
caught  the  astonished  bird  by  the  wing. 
But  he  had  forgotten  the  beak  and  claws, 
which  the  very  field-mice  know.  As  they 
hooked  savagely  into  his  brown  fist  he  drew 
back  sharply — and  just  too  far.  The  ledge 
was  very  narrow;  and  overbalanced  by  his 
recoil,  he  fell  sprawling  twenty  feet  into  the 
great  cell  below. 


The  Mummy  Miner.  33 

Luckily  there  was  at  the  bottom  nothing 
harder  than  the  universal  in-blown  sand; 
and  though  sadly  shaken  up  by  the  fall 
Faquo  was  not  seriously  hurt.  For  a  few 
moments  he  lay  there  half  stunned;  then 
slowly  gathered  himself  up  and  looked 
about  in  a  dazed  way. 

The  owl  was  still  in  his  hand — less  by  his 
grasp  than  by  the  obstinate  clenching  of 
its  own  curved  claws,  which  now  began  to 
hurt  again.  He  unhooked  them  painfully, 
one  by  one,  tore  a  tatter  from  his  shirt  and 
tied  it  about  those  mischievous  feet.  A 
rather  stubborn  boy,  Faquo.  It  was  very 
hard  to  turn  his  attention  from  anything 
upon  which  he  had  once  started,  until  it  was 
finished. 

At  last,  when  his  prize  was  safely 
anchored  to  a  clod  of  adobe,  he  was  free  to 
think  of  more  important  matters.  PuesI 
He  had  walked  into  a  bad  trap.  There 
were  no  doors  nor  windows  down  here — 
clearly  the  ancients  had  descended  into 
these  cellar-like  rooms  by  ladders,  which 
had  long  ago  disappeared.  And  how  was  he 
to  get  up  that  twenty  feet?  In  this  adobe 
he  could  cut  steps  to  the  top ;  or  even,  in 
time,  burrow  through  the  base  of  that 
eight-foot  wall — but  his  spade  stood  away 


34  The  Mummy  Miner. 

up  there  on  the  ledge,  leaning-  against  the 
parapet  where  he  had  left  it. 

"Castro!  Cas-tro-o!"  he  screamed  at  the 
top  of  his  lung-s — but  it  seemed  that  his 
voice  did  not  rise  at  all  out  of  the  sunken 
chamber.  How  buried  and  pent  it  was! 
He  shouted  until  he  was  hoarse;  but  knew 
as  well  that  the  huaqueros  did  not  hear  him, 
as  if  he  could  have  seen  them  still  digging 
stolidly  away,  far  down  the  other  side  of 
the  hill. 

The  place  grew  terrible  to  him.  In  such 
a  maze  of  ruins  they  might  not  find  him 
until  too  late.  Maria  would  come  to  look, 
surely,  if  he  were  not  home  by  dark;  but 
how  could  she  expect  to  find  him  so  far  from 
where  he  always  worked? 

He  knew  well,  this  boy  of  the  edge  of  the 
desert,  that  one  does  not  last  long  on  such 
a  gridiron  of  the  tropics.  Without  food  one 
may  do  for  several  days ;  but  without  water, 

under  that  sun !  Already  his  mouth 

was  parched. 

And  that  maldito  owl — that  was  to  blame 
for  it  all!  He  started  up  angrily  with  a 
clod  of  adobe  to  throw  at  it.  But  his  arm 
dropped  suddenly.  "No!  Nana  says  al 
ways  that  the  birds,  too,  are  children  of 
Taita  Dios,  and  that  He  loves  best  those 
who  are  good  to  them.  So  perhaps  I  am 


The  Mummy  Miner.  35 

punished  for  catching  it.  Pobrecito!  For 
now  we  both  are  caught." 

The  owl  did  not  seem  to  mind  so  much. 
It  sat  bunched  upon  its  tethered  feet,  blink 
ing  back  at  Faquo.  It  looked  so  very  grave, 
so  very  wise!  Quiza  it  knew  very  much 
about  the  ruins;  for  here  it  had  lived,  and 
its  people,  very  long  now.  Perhaps  it  even 
knew  where  was  the  Big  Fish ! 

Even  as  Faquo  looked  at  it  with  these 
thoughts,  the  owl  turned  its  head  down  on 
one  side,  and  looked  at  him  soberly  along 
its  shoulder.  Some  might  have  laughed  at 
this  proceeding,  but  not  so  Faquito.  He 
was  too  good  an  Indian  to  despise  the  wis 
dom  of  them  that  talk  not ;  and  suddenly 
he  asked  with  great  earnestness :  uln  truth 
that  thou  dost  know,  friend  owl  I  No  ?  " 

At  this  direct  question  the  owl  turned  its 
head  down  upon  the  other  shoulder,  and 
looked  wiser  than  ever.  Surely,  he  knew  ! 

"  But  where  ?  "  cried  the  boy.  "  Tell  me, 
owl  friend ! " 

But  the  bird  said  not  a  word.  Only  it 
gazed  at  Faquo  very  seriously;  and  then, 
turning  its  head  as  upon  a  pivot,  began  to 
spruce  up  the  feathers  upon  its  back,  as 
much  as  to  say:  "Oh,  that  you  must  find 
out  for  yourself,  as  I  did." 

Such  a  wise  bird,  but  so  unspoken ! 
Really,  how  convenient  it  must  be  to  be  able 


36  The  Mummy  Miner. 

to  turn  one's  head  square  around  that  way, 
and  look  straight  back  !  It  must  be  that  he 
can  even  see  that  spot  on  the  wall  just  be 
hind  him  and  above  his  head  —  that  round 
place  where  the  adobe  is  yellower  than  the 
rest.  Probably  the  plaster  was  broken 
there,  and  they  patched  it. 

Faquo  got  up  idly,  and  set  the  owl  care 
fully  to  one  side,  and  passed  his  hand  over 
the  spot.  It  was  somewhat  larger  than  his 
head  —  j  ust  a  round  patch  of  adobe  plaster, 
centuries  old,  yet  evidently  newer  than  the 
rest  of  the  wall. 

He  picked  aimlessly  at  its  edge.  A  peb 
ble  came  out  under  his  fingers,  and  showed, 
behind,  a  small  crevice  —  as  if  a  deep  hole 
had  been  filled  up,  instead  of  a  little  break 
in  the  wall  plaster.  Instantly  the  boy's 
eyes  waked  up,  and  a  queer,  professional 
look  settled  upon  his  face. 

"It  will  be  a  wall  niche,"  he  said  gravely. 
"And  sometimes  they  filled  them  up  to 
change  the  wall ;  but  why  did  the  owl  sit  by 
this  one,  if  that  was  all?  " 

He  pried  and  pulled  until  his  fingers 
were  sore,  and  pounded  with  his  fist  upon 
the  yellow  patch  ;  but  the  adobe  was  very 
stubborn.  How  aggravating  to  have  the 
spade  perched  away  up  there,  when  he 
wanted  to  open  this  niche  !  For  by  now  he 


The  Mummy  Miner.  37 

had  quite  forgotten  about  getting-  out  of  his 
prison.  The  strange  fascination  that  all 
miners  know  was  upon  him. 

Plague  take  the  spade !  He  picked  up 
again  the  strong-  lump  of  adobe  which  had 
fallen  with  him  from  the  upper  wall,  and 
flung-  it  at  the  offending  spade.  It  struck 
the  sandy  shelf,  and  a  little  stream  of  sand 
fell  down  with  the  missile.  That  gave  him 
a  thought ;  and  he  picked  up  his  clod  and 
threw  it  again  and  again  and  again. 

Each  time  it  fell  back  a  little  smaller,  but 
each  time  a  little  more  sand  sifted  down. 
Then  the  sand,  thus  started,  began  fritter 
ing  down  of  its  own  accord,  and  the  under 
mined  shovel  began  to  creep,  stopped,  slid 
a  little,  and  at  last  pitched  down  and  fell  at 
Faquo's  feet. 

He  jabbed  at  the  adobe  with  the  corner 
of  his  spade,  and  the  hard  lumps  showered 
down  upon  his  bare  toes.  In  a  few  moments 
a  smooth-rimmed  opening  was  revealed, 
and  he  thrust  in  his  arm. 

It  was  not  like  any  of  the  niches  he  knew 
— the  ones  that  have  never  been  closed,  but 
remain  as  they  were  500  years  ago,  when 
the  people  of  Pachacamac  kept  on  these 
odd  shelves  their  ornaments  and  trinkets. 
This  one  was  like  a  nest  of  the  "  God-give- 
you"  bird — with  a  small  opening,  but  large 


38  The  Mummy   Miner. 

inside.  In  the  big-  hollow  was  something- 
soft;  and  Faquo  drew  out  his  hand  full  of 
beautiful  yellow  floss. 

"The  wool  of  the  vicuna,  only,"  he  mum 
bled,  disappointedly,  but  with  the  expert's 
air.  "But  why  should  they  ceil  that  up? 
Perhaps  there  is  also  cloth." 

In  went  the  brown  fist  again;  and  rum 
maging-  down  throug-h  the  silken  fleece,  his 
fingers  met  something-  firmer.  In  a  moment 
he  had  it  out  —  a  long  bundle  of  that  match 
less  weaving  of  old  Peru ;  of  cloth  as  soft 
and  strong  as  silk,  woven  with  strange 
figures  of  men  and  gods  and  beasts;  such 
fabrics  as  never  unthinking  loom  has 
woven,  nor  any  machine  less  wondrous 
than  the  fingers  of  a  man. 

"Ay!  It  will  be  worth  twenty  soles!" 
cried  Faquo  softly.  "But  it  is  so  heavy! 
Perhaps  they  have  wound  it  on  a  stone." 

Very  tenderly  he  unrolled  it,  that  none 
of  those  bright  threads  —  stronger  than  all 
the  centuries,  but  brittle  ^  a  careless  touch 
—  might  be  broken.  But  when  the  last 
fold  came  off,  this  very  stupid  Indian  boy 
fell  down  on  his  knees  in  the  sand,  and  cried 
and  cried.  For  it  was  not  a  stone  at  all. 

If  you  will  go  to  the  Exposition  in  Lima, 
among  the  bewildering  collections  of  Peru- 


The  Mummy  Miner.  39 

vian  antiquities,  you  can  see  two  priceless 
idols,  each  big1  as  a  large  doll.  They  are 
like  human  figures,  excellently  sculptured ; 
and  the  strangest  thing  about  them  is  that 
they  are  made  of  alternate  zones  of  gold 
and  silver  from  feet  to  head,  so  that  they 
remind  one  of  that  great  image  we  read  of 
in  Revelations. 

That  is  the  nearest  Faquito  ever  came  to 
finding  the  Fez  Grande  —  and  quite  near 
enough  for  one  poor  boy.  And  that  is  what 
took  my  breath  away  when  I  had  wakened 
and  hauled  up  with  my  reata  the  little, 
ragged  cholo  I  accidentally  spied  in  the 
trap  where  he  had  cried  himself  to  sleep 
over  something  hugged  in  his  arms. 

When  he  had  laid  the  precious  images 
and  the  spade  on  the  broad  top  of  the  wall, 
and  told  me  all  about  it,  he  insisted  on  being 
lowered  again  on  the  rope  to  get  the  owl, 
which  he  loosed  and  let  go,  saying,  in  the 
tone  of  an  old  man: 

"  Taita  Dios — God  our  Father — sends  us 
friends  we  know  not.  For  the  owl  brought 
me  here  and  showed  me  the  place,  so  that 
now  we  are  very  rich.  And  even  so,  I 
could  have  died  there  without  the  help  of 
you.  So  I  think  your  grace  may  be  even  as 
wrise  as  the  owl,  which  knows  where  is  the 
Fez  Grande." 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 


T3ROBABLY  they  would  not  have  seen 
1  Ramon  Ynga  at  all,  but  for  the  llamas. 
There  was  enough  else  to  look  at.  The 
overpowering  walls  of  the  mountains  on 
both  sides  seemed  to  turn  the  eyes,  even 
as  they  turned  the  foaming-  Rimac,  into  a 
channel  from  which  there  was  no  escape. 
Up  at  the  end  of  the  cleft  was  such  a  sight 
as  no  man  can  long-  hold  his  eyes  from  — 
the  black  peak  of  Chin-chau,  bent  down  with 
its  load  of  eternal  winter.  There  is  some 
thing-  awful  about  the  snow  that  never 
melts  —  the  great  blank  fields,  the  wrinkled 
glaciers,  the  savage  ice  cornices,  the  black 
rocks  that  peer  out  hopelessly  here  and 
there.  It  is  so  different  from  the  friendly 
white  we  know  and  welcome  for  its  sleigh 
rides  and  coastings,  its  snow  men  and  snow 
ballings. 

It  was  far  up  the  summit  of  the  Peruvian 
cordillera,  at  the  very  foot  of  the  last  wild 
peaks  that  stand  18,000  feet  in  the  sky. 

43 


44  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

Where  the  panting-  mules  trudged,  3,000 
feet  below  the  peaks,  was  low,  green  herb 
age;  and  500  feet  lower  yet  the  little  tor 
rent,  white  as  its  mother  snows,  roared  and 
chuckled  alternately  to  the  uneven  wind. 
But  up  yonder  all  was  so  white  and  still; 
their  eyes  kept  lifting-  up  to  it,  forg-etful  of 
the  dangerous  trail  —  the  mules  could  take 
care  of  that.  They,  poor  brutes,  seemed 
ill  at  ease.  They  breathed  in  short,  loud 
gasps;  and  every  forty  feet  or  so  they 
stopped  and  rested  for  a  few  moments,  un 
mindful  of  the  spur.  Then,  when  they 
were  ready,  they  started  up  again  of  their 
own  accord,  sighing  heavily.  They  would 
not  last  much  longer,  at  this  rate. 

"I  think  I'll  get  off  and  walk  awhile," 
said  the  younger  of  the  two,  a  bronzed, 
sinewy  man  of  twenty-five.  "  It  spoils  even 
this  scenery  for  me,  to  see  the  suffering 
of  the  mules.  One  wouldn't  think  they  'd 
play  out  so,  on  such  a  good  trail." 

"It  is  not  the  grade,"  remarked  the  Pro 
fessor,  quietly,  "as  perhaps  you  will  learn, 
/am  sorry  for  the  mules,  too;  but  it  is  bet 
ter  to  risk  them  than  something  more  im 
portant." 

"  Why,  you  speak  as  though  there  were 
some  danger  about  it!"  said  the  younger 
man,  who  was  now  striding  sturdily  along, 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  45 

leaving-  his  animal  to  follow.  Many  a  time 
he  had  climbed  Pike's  Peak  and  its  brother 
giants  of  Colorado,  and  once  had  stood  on 
the  cone  of  Popocatepetl.  A  peak  was 
nothing-  to  him ;  and  as  for  this  excellent 
path  —  pooh !  It  was  mere  child's  play. 

The  Professor  watched  him  without  a 
word,  but  with  an  expression  half  quizzical, 
half  grave.  After  a  hundred  yards  he 
spoke : 

"  You  don't  seem  quite  so  springy,  Bar 
ton.  I  never  saw  you  heavy-footed  before." 

"Well,  the  truth  is,  Professor,"  gasped 
Barton,  rather  shamefacedly,  "I  feel  most 
remarkably  queer.  My  knees  ache  as  they 
never  did  before  —  though  I  wouldn't  mind 
that  so  much.  But  I  cannot  seem  to  breathe 
well.  Here  my  heart  and  lungs  are  pound 
ing  away,  as  if  I  'd  been  sprinting  for  the 
220-yard  record !  It 's  enough  to  make  a 
man  ashamed  of  himself." 

"  No  cause  at  all  for  shame,  my  dear  boy; 
you  are  simply  learning  what  everyone  has 
to  learn  who  tempts  great  altitudes.  Now 
get  on  your  mule." 

"  No,  I  '11  wear  this  thing  off!"  cried  the 
athlete,  impatiently.  "  I  'm  no  puny  boy,  to 
give  up  just  because  I  feel  a  little  wrong. 
I  '11  just  keep  at  it,  and  beat  it  yet !  " 


46  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

"Barton,"  said  the  older  man,  in  atone 
his  companion  had  never  heard  him  use 
before,  "you  get  on  that  mule,  and  let  us 
have  no  more  nonsense.  I  like  your  pluck; 
and  it  is  because  you  have  more  real  'sand  ' 
(as  they  say  in  our  West)  than  any  young- 
man  I  know,  that  I  picked  you  out  for  this 
journey.  But  courage  is  a  dangerous  thing 
unless  you  mix  it  with  brains.  You  must 
learn  that  there  are  some  things  pluck  can 
not  overcome  —  and  this  is  one  of  them. 
Mount,  then!" 

Barton  obeyed  with  rather  an  ill  grace, 
and  promptly  got  angrier  with  himself  at 
realizing  what  a  relief  it  was  to  be  perched 
again  in  the  ridiculously  comfortable  Peru 
vian  saddle.  He  could  not  get  over  a  feel 
ing  of  shame  that  the  muscles  which  had 
borne  the  cruelest  tests  of  the  frontier 
should  now  have  "  played  the  baby,"  as  he 
put  it;  and  he  rode  on  somewhat  sulkily. 

It  was  here  that  Ramon  Ynga  stumbled 
into  their  lives;  and,  as  I  have  said,  all  by 
the  doing  of  the  llamas.  As  the  travelers 
rounded  a  sharp  turn  in  the  trail  the  mules 
stopped  suddenly  almost  face  to  face  with 
the  two  strangest  animals  that  Barton  had 
ever  seen.  Shabby,  grotesque  figures  they 
were,  with  splay  feet,  long,  awkward  legs, 
and  bodies  looking  like  long  tussocks  of  dry 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  47 

grass.  But  their  necks  were  the  worst  — 
tall  and  ungainly  as  stovepipes  covered  with 
hair.  Their  backs  were  hardly  so  high  as 
those  of  the  under-sized  mules ;  but  on  these 
unspeakable  necks  their  heads  were  quite 
on  a  level  with  Barton's.  And  such  heads  ! 
They  were  disproportionately  small  and 
ludicrously  narrow,  with  pointed  ears,  ma 
lignant  little  faces,  and  lips  wickedly  drawn 
back. 

"Why,  I  never  saw  anything-,  except  a 
rattlesnake,  look  so  vindictive!  "  cried  Bar 
ton.  "  What  on  earth  are  they  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  national  bird  of  Peru,"  re 
plied  the  Professor  roguishly.  "We  are 
apt  to  see  many  up  here.  In  fact,  if  we  had 
had  any  daylight  in  Casapalca  you  would 
have  noticed  many  hundreds  of  them;  for 
they  bring-  all  the  ore  to  the  stamp  mills, 
and  do  most  of  the  freighting-  besides. 
Lower  than  10,000  feet  you  will  hardly  ever 
find  them ;  the  llama*  is  a  mountain  animal, 
and  soon  dies  if  taken  to  the  coast. " 

"So  that  is  the  llama!  But  I  thoug-ht 
that  was  called  the  *  Peruvian  sheep  ; '  and 
these  look  no  more  like  sheep  than  my  mule 
does." 

"It  got  that  foolish  name  from  the  closet 
naturalists.  No  one  who  ever  saw  a  llama 

*  Pronounced  ll-yah-mah. 


48  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

could  fail  to  recognize  it  for  a  camel  — 
smaller  and  longer-haired  than  the  Eastern 
beast,  and  without  a  hump;  but  a  true 
camel." 

"It's  a  funny-looking-  brute,'*  laughed 
Barton.  "  It  seems  to  put  in  its  time  think 
ing-  what  a  grudg-e  it  has  ag-ainst  everybody. 
Hi !  Get  out  of  the  way,  you  standing- 
grievances!" 

The  Professor  and  the  young  frontiers 
man  had  thus  far  enjoyed  the  pause  of  the 
mules;  but  now  the  need  of  pushing  on  re 
curred  to  their  minds,  and  Barton's  excla 
mation  was  meant  as  a  signal  for  advance. 
But  the  llamas  stood  stolidly,  blocking  the 
trail.  He  drummed  his  spurs  against  his 
mule;  whereat  the  animal  took  two  steps 
forward  and  stopped,  bracing  back,  un 
mindful  of  the  rowels.  The  llamas  did  not 
take  a  step.  Only  they  seemed  to  drop 
their  bodies  a  little,  upon  those  long  legs. 

"  Why,  they  're  not  such  fools  as  they 
look ! "  cried  Barton,  whose  sharp  eye  under 
stood  the  trifling  motion.  "See!  They 
are  going  to  give  us  the  edge ! " 

The  trail  was  two  feet  wide  —  an  endless 
thread  of  a  shelf  hewn  along  the  mountain 
wall.  On  the  right,  the  great,  dark  slope 
ran  up  to  the  very  clouds;  on  the  left,  one 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  49 

could  snap  a  pebble  into  the  white  torrent, 
500  feet  below. 

"I  have  heard  that  they  always  take  the 
wall,"  the  Professor  rejoined,  "and  that 
when  two  llama  trains  meet  on  one  of  these 
trails  it  is  almost  impossible  to  make  a 
passing-.  Sometimes  they  even  shove  each 
other  off  the  cliff." 

"  I  guess  we  'd  better  not  force  the  right 
of  way  —  a  tumble  into  the  Rimac  there  is 
more  than  I  care  for ! "  And  Barton  jumped 
from  his  mule  and  advanced  upon  the  block- 
aders,  waving  his  arms  threateningly. 

"Look  out!"  cried  the  Professor;  but 
before  the  words  were  fairly  off  his  tongue, 
the  foremost  llama  opened  its  ugly  mouth 
and  spat  at  Barton  in  fury.  At  this  un 
pleasant  salutation  he  retreated  hastily. 

"That  is  their  weapon  of  defense."  said 
the  Professor.  "And  their  saliva  is  won 
derfully  acrid.  It 's  as  well  you  didn't  get 
it  in  the  face.  But  I  wish  they  would  get 
out  of  the  way  —  we  have  no  time  to  spare. " 

Just  then  there  was  another  surprise.  A 
figure  hardly  less  remarkable  than  the 
camels  slid  down  from  the  overhanging 
hillside,  and  stood  in  the  path,  looking  at 
the  startled  travelers.  It  was  a  dwarfish 
creature,  not  four  feet  tall,  with  a  large, 
round  head,  a  broad,  strong  body,  and  very 


50  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

short  legs,  peculiarly  bundled  up  in  un 
familiar  clothes.  A  boy  —  what  in  the  world 
was  he  doing  on  that  impossible  slope? 
What  a  goat  he  must  be ! 

"Hulloa!"  cried  Barton,  as  soon  as  he 
could  find  a  voice. 

"God  give  you  good  day, sirs, "answered 
the  lad  gravely,  in  thick  Spanish.  "Wait 
me  so-little,  and  I  will  get  you  by." 

With  this  he  called  "  U-pa !  "  to  the  llamas, 
lifting  his  finger  as  if  to  point  them  up  the 
trail.  Ordinarily  they  would  have  obeyed ; 
but  the  aggressive  manner  of  Barton  had 
roused  their  obstinacy,  and  they  did  not 
budge.  The  boy  put  his  shoulder  to  the 
ribs  of  one,  and  heaved  hard,  but  the  brute 
stood  its  ground. 

"Well,  it  is  to  wait!"  said  he;  and  ran 
about  the  path,  gathering  up  very  small 
pebbles  until  his  shabby  hat  was  full.  Then 
he  sat  down  on  a  boulder  that  jutted  from 
the  bank,  settling  himself  as  if  for  a  long 
rest,  and  threw  a  mild  and  measured  peb 
ble  at  each  llama.  They  turned  their  heads 
a  little  and  wrinkled  their  disagreeable 
noses.  He  waited  a  moment  and  then 
pitched  two  more  pebbles — which  had  the 
same  effect.  So  he  sat,  slowly  and  mechani 
cally  tossing  his  harmless  missiles  upon  the 
dense  hair  of  his  charges.  Evidently  he 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  5 1 

was  in  no  hurry ;  and  the  two  travelers,  im 
patient  as  they  were,  had  too  much  wisdom 
of  experience  to  try  to  push  him.  They 
sat  quietly  in  their  saddles,  watching-  the 
droll  scene.  It  was  very  ridiculous  to  need 
deliverance  from  two  stupid  beasts,  and  to 
get  it  from  such  an  owlish  little  tatterde 
malion.  His  ragged  clothing  was  of  very 
thick,  coarse  cloth;  and  upon  his  feet  were 
the  clumsy  yanquis^  or  rawhide  sandals  of 
mountain  Peru,  and  he  wore  thick  stockings 
rising  to  his  knees.  Over  his  trousers  was 
a  curious  garment,  half  apron  and  half  leg 
gings;  and  oversleeves  of  the  same  material, 
hung  with  a  cord  about  his  neck,  came  up 
over  the  elbows  of  his  coat.  These  two 
garments  were  knit  in  very  strange  pat 
terns,  amid  which  were  square,  brown 
llamas  wandering  up  and  down  a  gray  back 
ground.  Around  his  waist  was  a  woven 
belt,  now  very  old,  but  of  beautiful  colors 
and  workmanship.  And  his  face — what  a 
brown,  round  riddle  I 

"How  do  you  call  yourself,  friend?" 
asked  the  Prof essor  in  Spanish.  "And  have 
you  ten  years  or  a  hundred?'* 

"Ramon  Ynga,  senor.  And  the  other  I 
do  not  know.  I  have  been  here  a  long  time 
— ever  since  they  built  the  mill  at  Casa- 
palca." 


52  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

"You  must  be  about  fifteen,  then.  And 
where  do  you  live?" 

"There,  above,"  answered  Ramon,  toss 
ing1  another  pebble. 

"A  curious  habit  of  the  mountaineers," 
said  the  Professor.  "These  Indians,  in 
stead  of  living-  in  the  valleys,  climb  to  the 
very  tops  of  these  peaks,  and  build  there 
their  squalid  stone  hovels.  They  seem  to 
think  nothing-  of  the  eternal  clambering-  up 
and  down." 

An  hour  crawled  by,  and  the  stones  in 
Ramon's  hat  were  running  low.  Suddenly 
the  brown  llama  turned  with  a  snort  of  dis- 
g-ust,  and  strode  off  up  the  trail.  The  white 
one  hesitated  a  moment,  snorted,  and  fol 
lowed.  "That  way  they  get  tired,  sirs," 
said  the  boy,  emptying  his  hat  and  pulling 
it  down  upon  his  thatch  of  black  hair. 

"I  'd  take  a  good  club  to  them  ! "  growled 
Barton,  who  had  great  confidence  in  the 
Saxon  way  of  forcing  things. 

"  No,  the  boy  is  quite  right.  It  is  another 
case  wherein  you  must  not  try  to  be  smarter 
than  nature.  The  llama  is  the  stubbornest 
brute  alive — a  mule  is  vacillating  compared 
to  him.  If  you  put  a  pound  too  much  on  his 
load,  he  will  lie  down,  and  you  might  beat 
him  to  death  or  build  a  fire  beside  him,  but 
he  would  not  get  up.  Nobody  but  a  Peru- 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  53 

vian  Indian  can  do  anything-  with  a  Peru 
vian  camel,  and  Ramon  has  just  shown  us 
the  proper  tactics.  Hurt  the  animal,  and 
he  only  grows  more  sullen;  but  the  pebbles 
merely  tease  him  until  he  can  bear  it  no 
long-en  And  really  he  repays  patience;  for 
he  is  the  only  animal  that  can  work  effect 
ively  at  these  altitudes,  where  horses  and 
mules  are  practically  useless.  But  ade~ 
lantel  (forward!)" 

"Is  your  Excellency  going  to  Cerro  de 
Pasco?  "  asked  the  little  Peruvian,  running 
along-side  the  mule  and  looking  up  at  the 
Professor  with  unusual  animation  in  his 
non-committal  face.  He  had  never  spoken 
with  "  Yankees "  before,  and  indeed  for 
any  strang-er  to  notice  him  kindly  was  a 
new  experience.  He  liked  these  pale  men; 
and  a  dim  little  wish  to  please  them  warmed 
in  his  heart.  That  big-  young  man  —  why, 
he  was  taller  than  any  Serrano  in  the 
cordillera!  —  was  good.  Ramon  had  seen 
money  a  few  times ;  but  that  round,  shiny 
s0/,*  which  the  stranger  had  tossed  him 
when  the  llamas  moved,  was  the  first  he 
had  ever  held  in  his  hand ;  and  it  was  almost 
a  worry  to  be  so  rich !  But  the  other  man, 
with  a  little  gray  above  his  ears,  who  only 
looked  at  him  so,  and  spoke  as  if  he  knew 

*  The  Peruvian  silver  dollar.    Pronounced  soul. 


54  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

him  —  he,  surely,  was  very  great;  and  it 
was  to  him  that  the  ragged  boy  had  said 
"  ExceUncia"  His  face  was  kindly;  and 
there  were  little  smiles  at  the  edges  of  his 
mouth,  though  he  did  not  laugh. 

41  No,  hijito  (little  son),"  he  answered, 
"we  are  not  bound  to  the  mines.  We  are 
going  to  climb  the  Chin-chan,  to  look  at  the 
ice  cornices  and  to  measure  them." 

Even  Ramon  looked  astonished  at  this. 
If  a  Serrano  had  said  it,  every  one  would 
know  he  was  crazy.  Or  if  it  were  the  young 
man  —  well,  what  could  you  expect  of  one 
who  would  give  away  a  whole  sol?  But  this 
one  —  whatever  he  did,  it  must  be  right. 
He  certainly  was  not  crazy.  Still  — 

"  But  the  Soroche,  your  Excellency, "  ven 
tured  the  boy.  "  For  all  strangers  have  it ; 
and  many  die,  even  in  crossing  the  slope. 
Only  we  who  were  born  here  can  go  so 
high." 

"We  have  to  go,  my  boy ;  for  I  must  look 
at  the  snow  fields  and  the  cliffs  of  ice,  and 
measure  them,"  said  the  Professor,  kindly. 
"I  know  well  of  the  mountain  sickness,  and 
we  will  be  very  careful.  Besides,  we  are 
both  very  strong." 

"It  is  not  always  of  the  strong,"  per 
sisted  Ramon.  "Sometimes  the  sick  cross 
in  safety,  and  those  who  are  very  large  and 


THE    HOME    OF    THE    SOROCHE 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  55 

red  —  even  larger  than  your  Excellency's 
friend — fall  suddenly  and  never  rise  again; 
for  the  Soroche  is  stronger  than  any." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  my  wise  friend. 
It  is  terrible.  But  all  do  not  fall  victims, 
and  we  must  brave  it." 

"  At  the  least,  Excellency,  let  me  go  also! 
For  I  know  these  hills  very  well,  and  per 
haps  I  could  help.  As  for  the  llamas,  my 
brother  Sancho  comes  even  yonder,  and  he 
will  herd  them." 

"  You  won't  really  take  the  little  rat  up 
there,  will  you,  Professor?"  broke  in  Bar 
ton.  "  It  would  be  the  death  of  him."  ^ 

"M-m!  I  only  hope  we  may  be  as  safe 
as  I  know  he  will  be !  Estd  bien,  rny  boy ! 
Vamosl"* 

At  nine  the  next  morning  the  three  were 
entering  the  edge  of  the  snow  fields.  They 
had  camped  for  the  night  in  a  deserted 
hovel  at  the  head  of  the  valley;  and  there 
the  mules  could  be  seen  grazing,  pulling  as 
far  down  hill  as  their  ropes  would  allow. 
The  hut  was  not  a  mile  behind;  but  the 
travelers  had  been  ever  since  daylight  com 
ing  thus  far.  The  Professor  looked  old; 
and  Barton's  big  chest  was  heaving  vio 
lently.  As  for  Ramon,  he  clambered  along 

*  "All  right.    Come." 


56  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

steadily  and  soberly,  stopping-  only  when  he 
saw  the  others  had  stopped. 

By  noon  they  were  at  the  foot  of  the  last 
ridge,  in  a  great  rounding-  bay  flanked  by 
two  spurs  of  the  upper  peak.  The  curving 
rim  far  overhead  was  a  savage  cliff  of  eter 
nal  ice  — a  cliff  of  1,500  feet  sheer.  At  the 
top  a  great  white  brow  projected  many 
yards,  overhang-ing  the  bluish  precipice. 

"  It  is  —  a  —  noble  —  cornice, "  gasped  the 
Professor,  as  they  sank  upon  the  snow  to 
rest  for  the  hundredth  time  since  morning. 
"But  I  fear  —  we  —  made  —  a  mistake.  We 

—  should  —  not  have  —  tried  this  —  without 
— waiting  a  —  few  weeks  —  in  Casa  —  palca 

—  to  get  —  acclimated." 

"It  's  awful!"  groaned  Barton.  "My 
head  —  feels  —  as  if  —  it  would  —  burst. 
But  I  '11  be  hanged  — if  I  — give  up!  "  And 
the  resolute  young  man  fairly  snatched 
himself  to  erectness,  and  started  toward 
the  spur.  But  with  the  third  step  his  tall 
form  swung  half  around,  and  swayed  an 
instant,  and  fell  as  a  dead  pine  falls  in  the 
wind,  and  lay  heavily  upon  the  snow.  His 
face  was  black;  and  a  bright  red  stream 
trickled  from  each  nostril  as  the  Professor 
sank  on  his  knees  beside  him,  crying  husk 
ily,  "My  —  poor  boy!  I  have  —  killed  — 
you!" 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  57 

The  Professor's  face  had  a  strange  look, 
too.  His  eyes  were  very  red  and  swollen — 
but  that  was  from  the  merciless  glare  of 
the  snow — and  in  his  cheeks  a  gray  shadow 
seemed  to  be  struggling  with  the  unnatural 
purple.  And  he  was  so  unlike  the  Profes 
sor  of  yesterday.  He  seemed  so  dull;  even 
stupid ! 

"Come,  Excellency!"  Ramon  was  shout 
ing  in  his  ear.  "It  is  the  Soroche,  the 
mountain  sickness,  and  none  can  fight  it. 
We  must  be  gone  from  here,  else  very  soon 
you  are  both  dead.  Come!"  The  small 
brown  fist  was  tugging  at  the  old  man's 
shoulder,  and  in  the  quaint,  boyish  voice 
was  a  strange  thrill.  The  Professor  under 
stood.  Dazed  as  he  was,  the  way  in  which 
Ramon  said  that  one  word  "Come"  roused 
and  cheered  him  like  the  far  bugle  call 
which  tells  of  reinforcements  to  the  be 
sieged.  He  was  not  alone.  Here  was  help 
— the  help  of  a  dwarfed  Indian  boy  of  fifteen! 
But  that  is  often  the  very  sort  we  need  — 
not  muscle  so  much  as  the  elbow-touch  of  a 
staunch  heart. 

"But— Barton?"  said  the  Professor.  He 
could  no  longer  think  clearly;  and  instinct 
ively  he  turned  to  Ramon  as  superior. 
"Barton?  We— cannot— leave— Barton ! " 


58  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

The  Serrano  lad  looked  at  the  prostrate 
figure  and  then  at  the  Professor. 

But  even  in  those  bloodshot  eyes  Ramon 
read  something-  that  decided  him.  It  was 
very  hard,  and  it  was  more  dangerous  so; 
but  the  Friend-man  loved  the  other.  The 
other  must  be  tried  for  too! 

Ramon  unwound  his  long-  woven  belt  and 
passed  it  under  Barton's  back.  The  ends 
he  drew  up  under  the  armpits  and  crossed 
them  at  the  back  of  the  neck,  giving-  one  end 
to  the  Professor  and  keeping  one  himself. 
Then,  when  they  pulled  apart,  the  cross 
ing  of  the  belt  supported  Barton's  head. 
"  Now!  "cried  Ramon;  and  pulling  strongly 
the  two  dragged  the  heavy  form  along  the 
snow  to  the  edge  of  the  steep  slope.  The 
Professor's  face  was  purple,  and  drops  of 
blood  beaded  his  finger  tips. 

"Let  me,  senor ! "  said  the  boy;  and 
taking  both  ends  of  the  belt  over  his  shoul 
der,  he  went  plunging  down  the  declivity, 
Barton's  limp  head  bumping  against  his 
legs,  and  Barton's  body  and  heels  dragging 
in  the  soft  snow  just  enough  to  act  as  a 
brake.  As  for  the  Professor,  he  stumbled 
after  as  best  he  could,  with  vague  eyes  and 
bursting  veins  and  treacherous  legs.  Some 
times  he  fell  forward  and  plowed  a  rod  in 
the  snow,  and  once  he  was  beginning  to 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  59 

roll,  but  Ramon  leaped  and  stopped  him 
just  in  time. 

And  so  at  last  they  came  to  the  end  of  the 
snow.  The  boy  laid  his  -burden  upon  the 
matted  grass,  with  head  up-hill,  and  piled  a 
little  drift  of  snow  about  the  head.  "  Put 
it  so,  also,  to  your  head,"  said  he,  "and  I  will 
bring-  the  mules." 

With  that  he  was  racing-  off  down  the  hill 
in  knowing-  zig-zag's,  thoug-h  it  looked  too 
steep  for  a  goat. 

In  half  an  hour  a  very  tired  boy  was  get- 
ting-  two  helpless  men  upon  two  almost 
helpless  mules.  Perhaps  if  the  latter  had 
been  able  to  object,  he  could  not  have  suc 
ceeded.  But  by  the  help  of  the  slope,  and 
hauling  with  his  belt  over  the  saddle  from 
the  down-hill  side,  he  presently  had  both 
up.  Barton's  feet  he  tied  together  under 
the  mule,  and  Barton's  hands  around  its 
neck.  The  Professor  could  sit  up,  in  a 
stupid  way,  and  Ramon  tied  only  his  feet. 
"Hold  well !  "  he  cried  loudly  and  sternly, 
but  with  the  same  little  quiver  in  his  voice ; 
and  taking  both  bridle  reins  in  one  hand,  he 
plunged  down  the  hill,  his  weight  thrown 
forward  upon  the  hard  bits,  so  that  the  re 
luctant  mules  had  no  choice  but  to  follow. 

The  only  one  who  remembers  much  of 
that  grim  journey  is  Ramon,  and  as  he  is 


60  A  Boy  of  the  Andes. 

not  much  given  to  talking-,  no  one  knows 
just  what  he  does  think  of  it.  The  Profes 
sor's  clear  recollection  begins  with  finding 
himself  on  board  the  train  at  Casapalca  —  a 
train  of  that  most  wonderful  railroad  in  the 
world,  the  railroad  above  the  clouds,  that 
clambers  up  and  burrows  throug-h  the  cor- 
dillera  of  Peru.  Before  that  are  only  hazy 
memories  of  a  vast  mountain  wall  leaning- 
over  to  crush  him ;  a  winding-  path  in  the 
air;  a  queer,  boy's  voice,  coming-  from  no 
where,  with  little  Spanish  words  of  cheer. 
And  now  a  round,  brown  face  from  the  op 
posite  seat  was  watching  him  seriously  — 
even  tenderly,  the  Professor  fancied  — 
while  the  burly  conductor  was  saying: 

"I  never  seen  it  come  any  closer!  How 
ever  the  boy  got  you  in,  beats  my  time. 
And  I  saw  he  hated  to  leave  you,  so  I  says 
to  him,  says  I,  'Just  get  in,  sonny,'  'n'  go 
down  to  Lima  with  us,  'n'  I  '11  fetch  you 
back  if  I  lose  my  job!  He  's  the  right  sort, 
he  is!  An'  you  '11  be  all  right,  as  soon  as 
you  get  down  there  —  that 's  the  only  medi 
cine  for  the  S'rochy." 

All  right  they  were  next  day  in  the  capi 
tal.  Even  Barton  was  able  to  sit  up ;  and  he 
nodded  weakly  as  the  Professor  said  to 
Ramon : 


A  Boy  of  the  Andes.  61 

"  My  boy,  I  would  like  you  to  go  with  us. 
We  have  to  travel  much  in  Peru ;  and  if  you 
will  accompany  us  you  will  earn  good  wages. 
And  you  shall  be  as  my  son.  For  neither  of 
us  would  be  alive  now  if  we  had  not  had  a 
little  hero  with  us.  Will  you  come?  " 

Joy  flashed  over  Ramon's  face.  But  then 
it  faded,  and  tears  started  in  his  eyes  as  he 
said  simply : 

"  You  are  good,  Excellency  1  I  would  go 
anywhere  with  you.  But  in  the  Chin-chan 
is  my  mother,  with  the  babies;  and  since 
father  died,  I  must  be  the  man,  for  Sancho 
is  too  young.  AdiosI" 

And  he  ran  out,  so  that  they  should  not 
see  him  crying. 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

NOT  the  elder  daughter,  whom  all  the 
world  knows  where  she  sits,  white 
upon  her  little  green  patch  against  the 
hopeless  desert,  looking  up  with  now  and 
then  a  shiver  at  the  white-headed  giant,  her 
father.  No,  the  one  I  mean  now  is  some 
thing  like  three  hundred  and  fifty  years 
younger  than  the  Misti's  first  born  and 
favorite,  and  not  white  at  all,  nor  over- 
dignified,  nor  even  given  to  much  thought 
as  to  when  taita  *  shall  shrug  again  those 
mighty  shoulders  and  rattle  the  walls  about 
her  ears.  In  fact,  to  look  at  the  two  —  the 
fat,  brown,  clumsy  cholo  girl  and  the  shin 
ing  city  —  I  dare  say  you  would  never  take 
Transita  and  Arequipaf  for  sisters  at  all. 
But  as  both  are  daughters  of  the  Misti,  I  see 
no  other  way  out  of  it. 

What!  You  don't  know  either  of  them? 
Hm !  Of  course  it  could  hardly  be  expected 
that  you  should  be  acquainted  with  Tran- 

*  The  Aymard  and  Quichua  Indian  word  for  father. 
t  Ah-re-fcee-pa. 


66        A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

sita,  for  she  lives  on  a  back  street  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  and  comes  very  sel 
dom  to  the  plaza.  And  probably  you  could 
not  talk  with  her,  anyhow,  since  her  speech 
is  only  Spanish  and  Quichua.  But  not  to 
know  Arequipa —  why.  that  is  to  count  out 
the  prettiest  city  in  Peru,  and  one  of  the 
oldest  in  America.  And  if  you  do  not  know 
the  daughter  you  have  missed  the  father, 
too,  which  is  an  even  greater  pity  —  for 
he  is  one  of  the  handsomest  giants  on  earth, 
though  a  baby  in  his  own  family.  Well, 
well  —  the  sooner  I  give  you  an  introduc 
tion  the  better,  then. 

The  Misti  is  an  inactive  but  living  vol 
cano,  a  hundred  miles  from  the  sea,  in 
southern  Peru.  As  I  have  said,  it  ranks 
small  at  home,  being  only  19,300  feet  tall, 
while  some  of  its  brother  Andes  tower  to 
26,000  feet.  But  few  of  them  are  so  hand 
some.  It  stands  alone  and  erect,  with  head 
up  and  shoulders  squared,  while  some  of 
them  look  as  if  the  nurse  had  dropped  them 
in  their  babyhood  and  they  had  never  got 
their  spines  straight  again.  It  is  a  huge 
and  very  perfect  cone,  symmetrical  as  the 
sacred  peak  of  Japan,  but  vastly  higher. 
So  steep  is  it  that  the  thick  blanket  of  vol 
canic  cinders  would  surely  slip  down  from 
its  shoulders,  except  for  the  long  brooches 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti.         67 

of  dead  lava  that  pin  it  up.     As  for  its  head, 
that  is  old  with  eternal  snow. 

For  time  unknown  —  since  long-  before 
history  —  the  Misti  has  been  the  best  known 
mountain  in  Peru;  and  I  do  not  much  won 
der.  It  has  a  nobility  of  its  own,  such  as  its 
mightier  brethren  do  not  all  possess.  Just 
to  its  right  vast  Charchani  climbs  20,000 
feet  into  the  sky,  and  a  most  majestic  peak 
it  is.  Just  to  its  left  towers  the  grand  wall 
of  Pichu-pichu,  itself  taller  than  the  greatest 
mountain  in  the  United  States.  But  it  is 
always  the  lone,  solemn  Misti,  to  which 
every  one  looks,  of  which  every  one  speaks 
—  with  a  strange  mixture  of  love  and  awe. 
Meeting  an  Arequipeno  abroad,  you  might 
very  likely  fancy  there  were  no  other  mount 
ains  in  sight  of  his  home;  but  you  will  not 
be  left  long  in  ignorance  that  there  is  a 
Misti.  Even  before  Europeans  knew  of 
America,  the  remarkable  Indians  of  Peru 
half  worshiped  the  Misti;  and  so  Arequipa 
gets  its  name,  an  Aymara  word  which 
means  "with  the  peak  behind  it."  Far  up 
its  deadly  sides  they  toiled  to  make  their 
sacrifices  to  Those  Above ;  and  even  in  the 
elder  crater  I  have  counted  the  ruins  of 
aboriginal  shrines.  It  is  so  isolated,  so  in 
dividual,  so  majestic  in  its  awful  stature; 
and  above  all,  while  its  neighbor  brothers 


68         A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

are  just  mountains,  it  has  a  soul  —  the  won 
drous  fire-soul  of  the  volcano. 

A  stern  father  is  the  Misti.  His  daugh 
ter  is  surely  not  undutiful,  but  many  a  time 
he  has  punished  her  sorely.  Many  a  time 
he  has  sent  her  sprawling-  in  the  dust,  and 
turned  her  smiling-  whiteness  to  a  genera- 
tion  of  mourning-.  So,  even  as  late  as  1868 
over  half  the  buildings  of  Arequipa  went 
down  in  a  mortal  chaos  of  stone,  killing1  as 
many  people  as  fall  in  an  ordinary  battle. 

One  might  fancy  that  such  a  parent  would 
get  himself  disliked;  but  his  severity  does 
not  seem  to  be  laid  up  against  him.  Are 
quipa  loves  the  Misti — and  as  for  Transita, 
she  loved  him  even  more  than  she  did  Are 
quipa.  Their  house  faced  south,  but  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning  Transita  used  to  climb 
to  the  stone-arched  roof  to  look  at  the  peak 
black  against  the  rising  sun;  and  the  last 
thing  at  evening  to  watch  the  rosy  west- 
glow  upon  that  venerable  head.  And  always 
she  wondered  the  more,  for  now  as  she 
grew  taller,  and  the  untaught  soul  had  room 
to  swell,  she  saw  more  and  more  in  that 
great  dark  one  with  his  elephant-wrinkled 
hide  and  the  lava  scars  on  his  white  head, 
and  now  and  then,  of  a  hushed  dawn,  the 
ghost  of  a  cloud  floating  plume-like  from 
his  brow.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  is  so 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti.         69 

incomprehensible  a  giant  that  she  compre 
hended  him — in  that  child  way  which  is 
more  at  home  in  some  mysteries  than  we 
older  stupids  are.  At  all  events,  she  turned 
to  him  for  companionship  and  confidences, 
and  had  a  way  of  talking-  with  him  ever  so 
softly,  that  no  one  else  should  hear. 

"Now,  taita"  she  was  whispering1  this 
morning1,  "hast  thou  heard  what  is  to  be? 
For  they  say  that  the  Tuerto^  the  cross 
eyed,  who  oppressed  us  before,  is  to  make 
new  revolution,  that  he  may  be  president 
again  and  rob  himself  still  richer.  And  it 
has  always  been  in  Arequipa  that  they 
beg-in.  Dost  thou  think  it?  And  would 
they  kill  Eugenio?  For  he  is  very  loyal, 
and  is  one  of  importance,  being1  a  corporal. 
Do  not  let  them  hurt  my  brother — wilt 
thou,  taita?" 

To  all  these  questions  and  the  adjuration 
the  giant  answered  never  a  word.  His  face 
was  grave  with  the  morning  shadows.  To 
look  at  him  no  one  but  Transita  would 
have  dreamed  he  knew  anything  about  it. 

Nor  do  I  really  know  that  he  did,  though 
he  had  the  best  of  opportunities.  From 
that  lookout  in  the  sky,  so  overtopping  the 
town,  he  could  see  right  into  the  high-walled 
court  of  Don  Telesfor's  mansion.  It  was  a 
flat  old  courtyard,  paved  with  tipsy  blocks  of 


70         A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

stone  and  framed  four-square  with  long- 
shadowy  verandas  of  the  white  sillar.*  In 
the  center  was  a  long--forg-otten  fountain, 
and  at  the  middle  of  each  side  a  quaint 
staircase  of  the  same  white  tufa  ran  up  to 
the  cracked  and  precarious  sillar  roof.  No 
one  was  to  be  seen  about  the  .court.  Only, 
along-  the  eastern  portal^  was  a  long-  ridg-e 
of  fresh  earth. 

Don  Telesfor  was  making-  repairs.  A 
great  many  people  in  Arequipa  had  long- 
been  free  to  say  that  he  oug-ht  to  mend  his 
ways,  and  the  old  place  mig-ht  certainly 
count  as  a  way  that  should  be  mended.  His 
career  as  prefect,  years  before,  had  been 
by  no  means  free  from  charg-es  of  extor 
tion  and  thievery,  and  it  was  notorious  that 
he  would  be  glad  to  see  ag-ain  in  the  presi 
dential  chair  the  unscrupulous  usurper  who 
had  grown  from  pauper  soldier  to  many- 
times  millionaire  in  one  term.  For  this 
reason  Don  Telesfor  was  as  little  beloved 
as  his  old  patron;  and  poor  cholos,  with 
better  love  than  understanding-  of  free 
dom,  took  malicious  pleasure  in  laying-  the 
scourg-e  to  their  two  backs  jointly.  "  Look 
at  the  Caceristl"  they  would  growl  audibly 

*Seel-yar.    A  very  light  volcanic  stone  quarried  on  the 
side  of  the  volcano.    All  Arequipa  is  built  of  it. 
tPor-tal    The  Spanish  veranda. 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti.         71 

when  Don  Telesfor  thundered  down  the 
reeling-  cobblestones  on  his  silver  trapped 
horse.  As  for  his  house,  I  fancy  not  one  of 
them  ever  passed  it  after  nightfall,  with  a 
bit  of  chalk  in  his  pocket  (and  chalk  is  the 
last  thing-  to  be  without  in  Peru  during-  a 
campaig-n),  but  he  stopped  and  scrawled  in 
elastic  Spanish  upon  the  outer  wall :  "Death 
to  the  tyrant  and  his  leeches!  Down  with 
the  cross-eyed ! " 

But  thoug-h  he  was  unpopular  in  person 
and  politics,  no  one  thought  of  taking-  Don 
Telesfor  very  seriously.  Like  his  patron, 
he  had  turned  tail  when  the  Chilean  wolves 
came  down  on  the  fold ;  and  unlike  him,  his 
caution  was  greater  than  his  greed.  Every 
one  knew  him  for  timorous.  The  unhappy 
republic  was  torn  and  pale  with  fear  of  a 
new  usurpation;  but  in  all  the  whisperings 
and  the  glances  over  the  shoulder,  Don 
Telesfor  was  quite  forgotten.  Since  the 
downfall  of  the  pretender  he  had  been 
quietly  cultivating  his  pretty  chacra  at 
Yura,  and  now  even  thought  to  patch  up 
the  old  mansion  in  Arequipa,  long  tousled 
and  neglected  since  the  terrible  temblor  of 
'68.  This  was  praiseworthy  and  reassur 
ing,  too.  In  those  troublous  times  to  think 
rather  of  beautifying  and  restoring  the 
home  was  clearly  a  pledge  of  peace. 


72         A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

Sober  burros,  each  laden  with  two  big 
white  blocks  of  sillar,  had  been  trudging 
down  from  the  lofty  quarries,  and  the  tot 
tering-  arches  of  the  courtyard  had  been  re 
built.  Now,  Don  Telesfor  was  hauling  rich 
soil  all  the  way  from  his  plantation  to  make 
flower  beds  in  the  patio.*  Some  felt  that 
the  soil  of  Arequipa  ought  to  be  good  enough 
for  any  flower;  but  if  he  chose  to  haul  dirt 
twelve  miles  instead  of  one,  that  was  his 
lookout.  So  the  crazy  wagons  creaked 
across  the  ancient  stone  bridge  every  after 
noon  and  bumped  into  the  courtyard,  and 
were  relieved  of  their  mules.  Don  Telesfor 
was  always  on  hand  in  person  to  attend  to 
the  unloading  —  he  and  his  nephew,  Don 
Beltran,  and  two  old  peons  —  while  the 
drivers  took  their  animals  to  the  actquia. 
One  would  have  thought  that  loam  sacred, 
by  the  care  he  took  of  it. 

Just  now  the  big  gates  were  shut.  The 
wagons  would  not  be  in  from  Yura  for  some 
time  yet.  Along  the  east  side  of  the  patio 
was  the  long  mound  of  soil,  paling  in  the 
hot  sun;  aside  from  that,  one  might  have 
thought  the  place  abandoned. 

But  if  one  could  have  peered  through  the 
heavy  doors  of  the  middle  room  of  the  north 
portal  one  would  have  seen  Don  Telesfor 

*Po/i-tee-o;  courtyard. 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti.         73 

and  Don  Beltran  and  half  a  dozen  strangers 
talking-  low  and  earnestly.  The  windows 
and  even  the  skylight  were  shuttered,  and 
the  one  candle  sent  strange  shadows 
sprawling  over  a  formidable  row  of  long, 
shallow,  iron-bound  boxes  stained  with 
fresh  earth. 

"  To-morrow  night,  then, "  said  one  of  the 
strangers,  laying  his  hand  on  Don  Teles- 
for's  shoulder.  "  Even  so  it  will  begin  in 
Lima  on  the  eve  of  the  new  'congress,  and 
all  is  set  that  the  revolution  burst  in  the 
same  hour  in  Truxillo,  Cuzco,  here  and  all 
Peru.  And  carrying  it  off  well  here  in  the 
south,  who  knows  but  Don  Telesfor  shall 
earn  a  place  in  the  new  cabinet?  " 

"  Ojala ! "  sighed  Don  Telesfor,  his  mouth 
twitching  greedily.  "At  all  events,  this 
end  is  safe.  I  promise  you  no  one  so  much 
as  suspects  us,  and  with  the  two  hundred 
men  that  will  sleep  here  to-night  hidden, 
we  can  easily  put  down  any  resistance. 
The  gudrdias  are  the  only  danger;  for, 
being  cholos*  they  all  worship  Pierola,  and 
it  avails  not  the  trying  to  buy  them.  The 
only  argument  with  such  stupids  is  to  rap 
them  the  back  of  the  head  —  and  for  that, 
thirty  secure  men  are  appointed  to  hide 
upon  the  beat  and  silence  each  his  police- 
Indian  half-breeds. 


74         A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

man.  By  midnight  that  should  all  be  set 
tled  without  noise,  and  then  we  will  fall 
upon  the  barracks.  A  hundred  soldiers, 
asleep,  have  nothing-  to  say  with  us;  and  in 
the  morning-  Arequipa  will  waken  to  find 
herself  in  our  ranks." 

4 'No thing- lacks,  then?" 

"Nothing-.  All  is  understood.  Forty 
rifles  are  still  to  come,  but  they  will  be  here 
in  an  hour,  or  maybe  two,  for  the  carts 
move  slowly." 

"  And  then  the  flower  beds  will  be  done, 
no?"  chuckled  the  other  with  a  wink. 

"Aye,  and  ready  to  bloom,"  answered 
Don  Telesfor,  smiling-  grimly  at  the  jest. 

"And,  methinks,  with  enough  thorns  — 
ay  did  si  What?" 

For  a  deep,  far  roar  crept  through  the 
closed  shutters;  a  Babel  of  howling  curs 
and  crowing  cocks  and  the  jangle  of  church 
bells.  Before  one  could  fairly  turn  to  look 
at  his  neighbor  it  was  as  if  that  whole  room 
of  stone  had  suddenly  been  dropped  twenty 
feet,  as  one  might  drop  a  bird  cage  to  the 
floor.  The  heavy  boxes  and  the  standing 
men  and  the  massive  furniture  were  tossed 
as  feathers  in  a  gust  of  air.  The  wide 
stone  vault  overhead  yawned  and  let  in  a 
foot  of  sky,  and  shivered  as  if  to  fall,  and 
then  as  swiftly  clapped  its  ragged  teeth 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti.         75 

shut  again,  while  a  great  dust  filled  the 
room  to  choking.  Then  all  was  still  as  the 
grave,  and  for  a  few  seconds  nothing  moved. 
At  last  the  men  scrambled  to  their  feet, 
pale  and  hushed,  and  stood  looking  blankly 
at  one  another. 

"  Ea!  But  I  like  not  your  Arequipa  tem 
perament,"  faltered  the  tallest  of  the  stran 
gers.  "It  is  too  impulsive.  Not  if  you 
gave  me  three  Arequipas  would  I  dwell 
here!" 

" Pues,  it  is  nothing,"  answered  Don 
Telesfor,  coolly.  "Only  in  the  being  ac 
customed.  These  temblores  are  fearsome, 
but  we  think  little  of  them.  To  the  street, 
when  the  shock  comes,  lest  the  walls  thump 
us  on  the  heads;  and  then  back  into  the 
house,  as  if  there  had  been  nothing.  As 
for  this  one,  it  is  a  good  omen.  El  Misti 
gives  us  the  hand  that  he  is  with  us  for  an 
overturning." 

Transita,  sitting  upon  the  stone  coping  of 
her  own  roof,  had  a  clearer  view  of  the 
earthquake,  and  her  opinion  certainly  did 
not  coincide  with  that  of  Don  Telesfor.  It 
was  a  perfect  day,  as  most  days  in  Are 
quipa  are,  but  something  in  the  air  made 
her  nervous  and  ill  at  ease,  and  all  the 
morning  she  had  been  perched  up  there 


76         A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

confiding-  her  fears  to  the  great  peak.  Be. 
low,  the  street  was  still  echoing-  the  rumble 
of  clumsy  carts  high  heaped  with  earth. 
She  had  paid  little  attention  to  them  or  their 
clamor.  Her  thoug-hts  were  for  Eugenio, 
and  her  anxiety  about  him  seemed  to  grow. 
So  g-roundlessly,  too.  The  national  unrest 
was  everywhere,  but  vague  and  undefined. 
No  one  knew  any  specific  cause  for  alarm, 
and  she  least  of  all.  Now,  if  her  ears  had 
been  sharp  enough  to  hark  across  to  that 
barred  room  a  mile  away,  where  Don  Teles- 
for  was  at  that  very  moment  saying:  "  The 
only  argument  with  such  stupids  is  to  rap 
them  the  back  of  the  head."  And  "such 
stupids  "  meant  precisely  Eugenio  and  his 
fellow-soldiers,  the  military  police  of  the 
city. 

Six  wagons  had  already  turned  the  cor 
ner  toward  the  bridge  and  were  out  of  sight. 
As  the  straggling  seventh  and.last  trundled 
past  the  house  the  teamster,  seeing  that 
squat  figure  up  there,  tossed  at  it  a  pebble 
from  his  load.  Transita  only  shrugged  her 
shoulder  at  the  tap.  She  was  too  busy  with 
her  thoughts  to  so  much  as  turn  around. 
"Much  care  of  Eugenio,"  she  murmured. 
"And  if  truly  there  be  of  these  Cacerists 
here,  confound  them,  taital  " 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti.         77 

As  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  great  peak 
a  swift  chill  ran  through  her.  She  was  sure 
the  Misti  nodded,  as  if  he  had  heard  her 
words.  Surely  the  giant  moved  I  Far  spurts 
of  dust  rose  from  his  shoulders,  and  dark 
masses  came  leaping-  down,  and  the  great 
profile  seemed  to  lose  its  sharpness.  She 
winked  hard  to  be  sure  of  her  eyes,  and  now 
the  Misti  moved  no  more.  But  from  the 
corrals  roundabout  rose  a  bedlam;  and 
Chopo  ran  out,  barking  frantically,  and  the 
ancient  cottonwoods  up  by  the  mill  sudden 
ly  bowed  their  heads  as  to  a  hurricane. 
The  aclquia  bank  split  and  the  stream  came 
panicking  out.  The  tall  wall  back  of  Eu- 
sebio's  house  was  rent  from  top  to  bottom, 
and  two-foot  blocks  of  sillar  flew  all  about. 
The  very  roof  on  which  she  sat — a  massive 
arch  of  stone,  as  are  nearly  all  the  roofs  of 
Arequipa  —  went  up  and  down  as  if  a  heavy 
wave  had  passed  under  it.  The  coping 
spilled  into  the  street;  and  Transita  was 
left  clinging  on  the  broken  edge,  her  face 
hanging  over.  There  were  wild  screams, 
and  every  one  stood,  as  by  magic,  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  looking  up  at  the  tot 
tering  walls.  And  in  the  self-same  breath 
it  was  all  done,  and  no  sign  was  left  save  the 
shattered  blocks  of  stone,  the  truant  atiquia 


78         A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

and  a  tall  cloud  of  yellow  dust  that  went 
bellying-  off  toward  Charchani. 

Yes,  one  thing-  more.  Transita  lay  be 
wildered  a  moment,  and  then  began  to  look 
about,  still  without  moving-.  Every  one  was 
going-  back  into  the  houses,  laughing  ner 
vously,  a  few  children  crying-.  In  another 
moment  the  street  was  deserted.  It  was  as 
if  that  thousand  people  had  been  a  return- 
ball,  to  pop  one  instant  into  sig-ht,  and  in 
another  back  with  the  recoil  of  the  elastic. 
But  down  by  the  empty  hovels  over  the  way 
was  a  cart,  broken  across  in  halves.  Two 
dazed  mules  were  trying-  clumsily  to  rig-ht 
themselves  with  the  forward  end  of  the 
wreck,  while  the  rear  half  was  tossed  up  on 
the  narrow  sidewalk  against  the  ruined 
walls.  The  load  of  earth  had  been  uncere 
moniously  dumped  into  the  g-utter,  and  the 
cholo  driver,  half  overwhelmed  by  it,  lay 
motionless  along-  the  curb. 

At  that,  Transita  was  upon  her  feet  at 
once,  nor  paused  until  she  was  tug-g-ing-  at 
the  teamster's  arms.  The  dirt  was  heaped 
upon  his  legs,  and  he  had  fainted  with  the 
pain,  and  such  a  dead  weight  she  could  not 
budge.  She  dropped  the  limp  shoulders  and 
began  to  claw  the  loose  earth  away.  In  a 
moment  the  left  foot  was  free;  but  as  she 
dragged  it  out,  the  dirt  slipped  down  and 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti.         79 

revealed  the  corner  of  an  iron-bound  box 
resting1  upon  the  other  leg-.  A  sudden  im 
pulse  led  her  to  sweep  back  the  soil  until 
the  end  of  the  case  was  uncovered.  The 
funny  black  marks  there  meant  nothing-  to 
Transita —  indeed,  if  any  one  had  spelled 
out  for  her  the  "M-a-double-n-1-i-c-h-e-r,"  I 
seriously  doubt  if  that  grewsome  German 
name  would  have  made  her  any  the  wiser. 
But  if  she  did  not  know  letters  from  ten- 
penny  nails,  and  was  equally  ignorant  of 
the  inventions  and  the  existence  of  Ger 
many,  Transita  was  no  fool.  For  a  moment 
her  brown  face  looked  more  than  usually 
dull.  Then  a  slow  grayness  crept  into  it, 
and  there  was  a  hitch  in  her  breath. 

She  looked  up  at  the  Misti  appealingly, 
and  then  down  at  the  box,  staring-  as  if  fas 
cinated.  Presently  the  rather  heavy  jaw 
set  stubbornly.  She  lifted  the  corner  of 
the  box  an  inch,  by  a  violent  effort,  pried 
her  shin  against  the  sharp  edg-e  to  hold  it, 
and  laboriously  drag-g-ed  out  the  imprisoned 
foot.  Then  she  scraped  the  earth  over 
until  the  box  was  well  hidden  ag-ain,  and 
leaving-  the  liberated  but  unconscious  team 
ster  where  he  lay,  went  racing1  down  the 
street  like  one  g-one  daft. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  story  to  bring-  to  the 
cuartel,  daug-hterling-, "  said  Captain  Yrri- 


8o         A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

barri,  fifteen  minutes  later.  Corporal  Eu- 
genio  had  no  sooner  heard  his  sister's 
breathless  message  than  he  brought  her 
before  the  commanding  officer,  and  there 
she  had  rehearsed  it  all,  unshaken  by  ques 
tionings  and  banter.  "It  has  to  be  true," 
she  declared,  over  and  over,  "else  mi  taita 
Misti  never  would  have  showed  me." 

"A  girl's  nonsense,"  the  grave  officer 
repeated.  *  *  And  still  —  what  do  any  boxes, 
thus  hidden  in  loads  of  earth,  and  in  these 
times?  I  mind  me,  now,  that  Don  Telesfor 
has  been  hauling  earth  all  the  way  from 
Yura  'these  many  weeks,  when  there  is 
better  at  Carmen  Alto.  It  is  fit  to  be  looked 
into,  and  by  the  saints,  if  thy  guess  is  true, 
little  one,  thou  shalt  be  corporal,  or  thy 
brother  sergeant!  Oyes,  Eugenio!  With 
a  squad  of  thirty  men  surround  Don  Teles- 
for's  house  and  hold  it  tight  that  it  leak  not, 
while  Pedro  goes  with  five  to  verify  the 
cart  and  the  box.  If  that  is  nothing,  they 
will  report  to  you  and  you  will  return  to 
quarters  with  the  tongue  behind  the  teeth; 
but  if  they  shall  find  arms  in  the  cart,  keep 
the  house  and  warn  me." 

For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  overly  love  the 
soldier-police  of  Arequipa,  and  have  some 
times  been  angry  enough  to  want  to  choke 
them  for  murdering  my  sleep  with  their 


A  Daughter  of  the  Misti.         81 

abominable  midnight  whistles.  But  after 
all,  I  am  glad  that  they  were  not  all  knocked 
on  the  head  the  night  after  the  earthquake ; 
for  in  spite  of  their  ignorance  and  their  skin 
and  their  ear-piercing-  way  of  announcing 
"All's  well,"  they  are  a  kindly,  honest, 
well  meaning-  set,  who  could  be  much  better 
utilized  than  by  clubbing-.  And  particularly 
Eugenio,  who  is  a  very  good  boy  and  likes 
to  talk  with  me,  calling  me  "your  grace." 
He  has  told  me  many  interesting  things, 
and  often  sent  a  cholo  to  "  tote  "  my  heavy 
camera  around.  Sergeant  Eugenio  now, 
please  —  for  Transita  declined  to  be  a  cor 
poral  when  the  search  revealed  not  only  the 
one  case  of  Mannlicher  rifles  in  the  dirt 
under  the  wrecked  cart,  but  thirty  cases 
more  in  Don  Telesfor's  house,  along  with 
papers  which  left  no  doubt  of  his  treason. 
Some  fellow-conspirator  must  have  warned 
him  in  time  of  the  wayside  accident,  for 
though  Eugenio  and  his  men  kept  the  house 
fully  surrounded  until  a  report  came  from 
the  cart,  when  they  broke  in  there  was  not 
a  soul  to  be  found. 

None  of  the  other  plotters  were  known, 
and  Don  Telesfor  eluded  pursuit.  It  may 
or  may  not  be  true,  as  I  have  been  told,  that 
he  took  asylum  in  Bolivia  and  was  after 
ward  drowned  in  trying  to  ford  the  Choque- 


82          A  Daughter  of  the  Misti. 

yapu  during-  a  freshet;  but,  at  all  events, 
he  never  came  back  to  revive  his  nipped 
revolution. 

As  for  Transita,  you  might  just  as  well 
try  to  tell  her  that  the  Misti  is  not  there  at 
all  as  that  "He  "  did  not  specially  and  in 
tentionally  interpose  to  save  the  peace  of 
his  daughters  and  the  head  of  Eugenio.  I 
half  believe  her  brother  is  secretly  of  the 
same  opinion,  for  the  superstition  of  the 
peak  is  very  strong  in  Arequipa;  though  he 
shrug's  his  shoulders  in  a  deprecatory  way 
when  put  the  direct  question,  and  says  eva 
sively  : 

"  Pues,  who  knows?  So  the  women  de 
clare.  For  me  it  is  enough  that  he  did  it, 
and  in  time,  the  same  as  if  he  knew." 


The  Witch  Deer 


The   Witch  Deer. 
* 

C  H  U  !  'sta-te  !"  cried  Josefa,* 
straightening-  up  from  her  work 
and  looking-  severely  at  a  small  brown 
rog-ue  who  had  climbed  up  to  the  little  shelf 
over  the  corner  fireplace.  The  adobe  floor 
was  spattered  with  big-  drops  of  water,  to 
lay  the  dust ;  and  Josefa,  bent  half  double 
to  reach  it  with  the  short  wisp  of  broom 
corn  which  serves  in  New  Mexican  homes, 
was  sweeping-  toward  the  door  the  fine 
gray  powder  that  works  up  daily  from  the 
compact  clay. 

"Give  me  that  little  stone,  nana"  beg-g-ed 
the  boy.  "The  one  tata  carries  in  his 
pouch  when  he  g-oes  to  hunt." 

"  Get  away,  quick,  for  that  is  the  charm 
of  the  Magic  Deer !  Much  care !  For  if 
ever  thou  touch  that,  thy  grandfather  will 
seetothee!" 

Anastacio  clambered  down  reluctantly 
from  the  old  chair,  and  went  outside  to  play 
with  the  burro.  But  the  stone  weig-hed  on 

*  Uo-say-f  a.  85 


86  The  Witch  Deer. 

his  mind.  It  was  a  very  ordinary-looking 
pebble,  gray,  light,  porous,  and  without  any 
particular  shape — looking,  in  fact,  like  one 
of  the  pieces  of  pumice  which  were  so  com 
mon  in  the  mountains.  But  somehow  it 
had  a  fascination  for  Anastacio.  And  that 
evening,  when  we  all  sat  by  the  crackling 
fire,  he  climbed  on  his  grandfather's  knee 
and  said : 

uGo,  tata,  tell  me  what  is  this  stone  of 
the  Magic  Deer,  that  I  may  not  play  with 
it." 

"To  play  with  that?"  exclaimed  Don 
Jose,  in  a  tone  of  horror.  " Child!  That 
little  stone  is  very  precious.  For  no  other 
hunter  in  New  Mexico  has  the  like ;  and  if  it 
were  lost  or  broken,  we  should  be  ruined, 
since  only  with  it  is  it  possible  to  kill  the 
deer  which  are  enchanted,  as  are  many. 
And  to  get  that  stone  I  passed  a  sad  time." 

"How?  Where?  When?  With  the  En 
chanted  Deer?  Tell  me,  tatital" 

"Yes,  with  the  Venado  Encantado,  and  in 
many  ways."  And  Don  Jose,  the  luckiest 
hunter  in  Rio  Arriba,  a  gray-headed  but 
sharp-eyed  Mexican  —  whom  I  count  a 
staunch  friend  and  a  brave  man,  even  if  he 
does  believe  some  things  I  do  not  —  nodded 
to  me,  as  if  for  permission  to  tell  the  story. 
I  had  often  heard  of  the  Witch  Deer,  and 


The  Witch  Deer.  87 

knew  that  a  very  large  proportion  of  the 
natives  of  New  Mexico  believe  firmly  in 
this  and  in  many  other  forms  of  witchcraft. 
I  knew,  too,  that  Don  Jose  was  a  scrupu 
lously  truthful  man.  The  years  of  our  ac 
quaintance  had  proved  that  beyond  doubt. 
Whatever  in  his  story  might  be  super 
natural  would  have  to  be  charged  to  his 
faith,  and  not  to  any  intention  of  deceiving. 

"  You  must  know,  Don  Carlos,"  said  he, 
"that  while  there  are  many  witches  here, 
there  is  one  kind  that  delights  most  to  vex 
hunters.  Without  doubt  you  also  will  have 
seen  the  Enchanted  Deer,  as  much  as  you 
hunt." 

"No,"  I  answered.  "I  have  never  seen 
one,  but  I  have  heard  of  them  all  over  New 
Mexico  these  five  years." 

"Sure  !  For  there  are  many  ;  and  many 
have  lost  their  lives  thereby,  for  the  Witch 
Deer  is  more  dangerous  than  bear  or  moun 
tain  lion.  Only  when  one  has  the  stone 
which  they  wear  in  the  first  fork  of  their 
horns  is  it  possible  to  conquer  them,  for 
that  makes  one  not  to  be  seen." 

"But  I  can  see  you,  Don  Jose,"  I  inter 
rupted,  smiling,  as  he  held  up  the  magic 
stone. 

"  But,  friend,  that  is  different  I  For  it  is 
only  in  its  use.  Now  I  want  you  to  see  me ; 


88  The  Witch  Deer. 

but  when  I  carry  this  no  deer  in  the  sierra 
has  eyes  for  me,  and  I  could  walk  even  up 
to  them,  taking-  care  only  that  they  scented 
me  not." 

It  is  worse  than  useless  to  argue  against 
these  beliefs.  Don  Jose  would  never  be 
convinced,  and  the  incredulity  of  a  friend 
could  only  hurt  his  feelings,  and,  besides 
being  ill-mannered,  further  caviling  would 
lose  me  a  story,  so  I  said,  simply: 

"All  right,  compadre,  tell  us  all  about  it." 
"Well,  then,  thus  it  was,  and  you  shall  see 
I  am  right.  It  makes  many  years  now,  for 
it  was  long  before  I  married  me  with  Josefa, 
in  the  year  of  '67.  Her  father  was  Alcalde 
of  Abiquiu*;  and  there  lived  my  parents 
also.  When  I  was  a  young  man,  already 
grown,  strong — as  you  may  yet  see — and 
well  taught  in  the  ways  of  hunting,  I  came 
often  to  these  mountains  for  game ;  and  our 
house  was  never  without  dried  meat  in 
plenty.  There  was  one  that  hunted  with 
me,  and  they  always  called  him  Cabezudo, 
because  of  his  strong  head ;  but  in  truth  he 
was  Luis  Delgado,  a  cousin  of  me.  In 
heart  we  were  as  brothers,  and  either 
would  give  his  life  for  the  other.  Often  the 
old  men  of  Abiquiu  told  us  of  the  Witch 
Deer,  which  could  never  be  killed  unless  by 

*  Pronounced  Abby-fcetu. 


The  Witch  Deer.  89 

a  hunter  unseen ;  and  Luis  answered  al 
ways:  'Aha !  When  there  is  a  deer  too  strong 
for  this  rifle,  let  him  eat  me/  For,  you  see, 
he  believed  not  in  witches.  This  was  the 
only  thing-  we  ever  quarreled  about — that  he 
was  without  faith. 

"It  came  that  in  October  of  the  year  '60 
we  were  together  camped  in  the  Valles,  and 
with  much  care,  since  the  Navajos  were 
bad.  We  had  a  house  of  logs,  very  strong, 
and  in  it  already  was  a  wonder  of  dried 
meat  of  deer  and  bear.  We  went  forth 
always  together,  for  fear  of  the  Indians, 
but  by  good  luck  they  molested  us  not.  As 
for  game,  I  think  there  was  never  such  a 
year. 

"One  day,  when  the  first  snow  was  three 
hours  old,  we  came  to  a  round  mesa  that 
stood  on  the  plateau,  and  near  the  foot  of  it 
were  tracks  of  a  deer.  But  alas !  I  knew 
then  that  it  was  no  true  deer,  for  its  foot 
prints  were  great  as  those  of  a  horse.  'It 
will  be  the  Venado  Encantado,'  said  I  to 
Luis.  'Let  us  go  the  other  way!'  But  he 
said  :  *  What  Enchanted  Deer,  nor  yet  what 
mouse-traps  ?  Get  out !  I  thought  thee  a 
man  !  Thou  that  only  yesterday  didst  kill, 
with  dagger  alone,  the  great  she-bear,  and 
nowwouldst  run  from  a  deer  track  !'  And 
it  was  true ;  for  since  the  bear,  well 


90  The  Witch  Deer. 

wounded,  was  upon  us  before  there  was 
room  to  reload,  I  had  the  luck  to  compose 
her  with  my  hunting-knife. 

"Wrong-  of  me  it  was,  but  I  had  shame 
at  the  words  of  Luis,  and  followed  him. 
*  Truly  this  is  grandfather  of  all  the  deer  !' 
he  cried.  'For  never  have  I  seen  such 
tracks.  And  his  horns  we  will  take  to  Abi- 
quiu,  though  they  shall  weigh  like  a  tree. 
Come  on  I* 

"With  that  we  pursued  the  tracks,  won 
dering  always  at  their  greatness.  They 
went  a  little  around  the  foot  of  the  mesa, 
and  then  up  a  steep  way  to  its  top.  When 
we  came  to  the  top,  where  was  a  cleft  in  the 
rocks,  so  that  one  could  get  up,  we  found  a 
large  level  place,  round,  and  with  a  rim  of 
cliffs  below,  so  that  nowhere  else  was  it 
possible  to  reach  the  summit.  The  trail 
went  away  among  the  junipers,  and  we  fol 
lowed  it  cautiously,  knowing  that  the  deer 
must  be  here,  since  no  tracks  led  down. 
And  of  a  sudden,  crawling  around  a  clump 
of  trees,  we  stood  before  him.  Ay,  senor ! 
How  great  he  was  !  Great  as  a  tall  horse, 
and  upon  his  head  the  keys  [horns]  were  as 
the  branches  of  a  blasted  cedar.  There  he 
stood,  a  thing  of  fifty  yards  away,  looking 
at  us  with  his  head  high,  as  if  mocking. 
My  heart  forgot  its  count ;  for  truly  he  was 


The  Witch  Deer.  91 

no  thing-  of  this  earth  —  that  beast  with  a 
look  so  cunning-  and  so  terrible. 

"'What  a  beast!'  Luis  whispered.  'At 
the  throat,  to  break  his  neck.  But  save 
thou  thy  fire,  for  in  case  ' — and  putting  his 
rifle  firm  as  a  rock,  he  fired.  But  as  the 
smoke  blew  by,  there  stood  the  deer,  wag- 
g-ing-  himself  the  head  scornfully,  for  the 
bullet  had  rebounded  from  him.  So  it  is 
with  these  beasts  that  are  witches,  for  when 
they  see  you,  no  ball  will  enter  their  hide. 
And  then,  putting-  down  his  head  till  that 
the  horns  lacked  but  a  foot  from  the  ground, 
he  came  like  a  larg-e  rock  leaping-  down  the 
mountain. 

"  Now  I  knew  well  that  he  was  no  mortal 
thing-,  and  that  I  had  no  rig-ht  to  shoot.  But 
for  sake  of  Luis,  who  was  pouring-  new  pow 
der  in  his  rifle,  I  cared  not  even  if  I  should 
be  accursed ;  and  when  the  beast  was  very 
close  I  sprang-  to  one  side  and  gave  him  the 
ball,  of  an  ounce  weight,  squarely  upon  the 
side.  But  it  could  not  enter  him.  Luis 
jumped,  too,  and  the  brute  passed  between 
us  like  a  strong  wind.  In  a  moment  he 
turned  and  charged  us  again,  and  lam  sure 
I  saw  smoke  come  from  his  nose.  As  for 
his  eyes,  they  were  pure  fire.  'Run  for 
yourself!'  cried  Luis,  and  he  made  for  the 
tree,  while  I  took  the  other  way.  Turning 


92  The  Witch  Deer. 

a  juniper,  I  ran  for  the  edge  of  the  cliff;  but 
just  as  I  came  there,  there  was  a  scream, 
and  looking-  across  my  shoulder,  I  saw  the 
deer  making-  with  his  horns  as  one  does 
with  his  spade  upon  hard  ground. 

"After  that  I  could  go  no  more  to  our 
camp,  but  came  straightway  to  Abiquiu. 
When  they  heard  what  had  been,  all  the 
town  mourned — for  Luis  was  well  beloved. 
But  none  were  surprised,  for  they  said: 
*  Always  we  told  him  of  the  Venado  Encan- 
tado,  but  he  would  not  believe.  And  now 
it  has  come  true.  Poor  headstrong  Luis  1* 

"  As  for  me,  I  sickened,  and  was  much 
time  in  bed.  And  always  I  saw  the  deer 
leaping  upon  Luis  and  tearing  him,  until  it 
was  not  to  be  borne.  When  at  last  I  was 
cured,  I  could  think  only  to  kill  the  Witch 
Deer,  and  avenge  my  poor  companero.  I 
asked  of  all  the  old  men  if  there  was  how 
to  do  it;  but  all  said,  'Beware,  lest  he  tram 
ple  thee  also!'  And  Josefa  prayed  me  to 
think  no  more  of  it,  for  she  would  never 
marry  one  who  put  himself  against  the 
witches.  I  know  not  how,  Don  Carlos,  for 
I  too  feared,  but  Luis  would  not  let  me  rest. 

"Twice  I  went  alone  to  the  mesa,  for 
no  one  would  companion  me.  There  was 
always  the  deer;  but  I  kept  under  the 
rocks,  where  he  could  not  reach  me,  and 


The  Witch  Deer.  93 

waited  my  turn.  Once,  when  my  aim  was 
true  upon  his  heart,  the  rifle  only  snapped; 
and  when  I  went  to  prime  with  double  care, 
the  flint  was  all  in  cracks,  so  that  it  would 
not  strike  a  spark.  And  again,  when  I  shot 
him  between  the  very  eyes,  from  near,  it 
did  him  nothing-.  So  I  saw  it  was  useless. 

"From  then  all  went  ill.  Even  the  wild 
turkeys  had  no  fear  of  me,  for  I  could  shoot 
nothing-.  And  in  Abiquiu  I  was  mocked, 
for  the  young-  men  had  been  jealous  that 
formerly  I  had  killed  more  g-ame  than  any, 
and  now  they  taunted  me  for  'the  starved 
hunter.' 

"At  the  last  I  thoug-ht  me  of  one  who 
lived  in  the  canon  of  Juan  Tafoya — a  witch, 
they  say,  very  wise  in  such  thing's — and  to 
him  I  went.  When  he  had  heard  my  story, 
he  said:  'But,  man!  knowest  thou  not  that 
this  is  the  Venado  Encantado  ?  How  dost 
thou  think  to  kill  him?  For  he  has  in  his 
horns  a  stone  of  great  power,  having-  the 
which  he  cannot  be  harmed.  There  is  only 
one  way  in  which  it  could  be  done,  and  that 
is  to  shoot  him  when  he  sees  thee  not.  But 
that,  even  the  best  hunter  cannot  do,  for 
the  animal  is  very  wise  and  of  sharp  sig-ht. 
Only  having-  an  invisible  stone  could  one 
do  it.' 


94  The  Witch  Deer. 

"'And  have  other  deer  this  stone?'  I 
asked ;  and  he  replied :  4  There  are  some, 
for  this  is  not  the  only  Witch  Deer.  But 
none  of  them  canst  thou  kill  if  they  see 
thee.' 

"After  that  they  saw  me  little  in  Abi- 
quiu,  for  I  was  always  hunting-.  For  many 
months  I  pursued  the  trail  of  every  buck 
deer,  killing-  many.  And  at  last,  shooting 
from  ambush  one  that  passed  me  unsus 
pecting,  I  found  in  the  first  fork  of  its 
horns  a  stone  like  this,  but  not  the  half  of  it 
in  size.  This  I  proved  in  many  ways,  and 
clear  it  was  that  now  my  luck  had  changed. 

"  Being  satisfied  of  this,  then,  I  loaded  my 
rifle  with  great  pains,  and  went  one  evening 
in  search  of  the  Venado  Encantado.  Com 
ing  to  the  mesa  by  night,  I  camped  among 
the  rocks,  without  a  fire,  and  in  the  morning, 
before  the  sun,  climbed  up  without  a  little 
noise.  In  my  pouch  was  the  stone,  and  my 
rifle  was  well  ready.  When  I  came  through 
the  cleft  at  the  top,  there  stood  the  deer, 
looking  straight  at  me,  not  twenty  yards 
distant,  and  I  threw  my  rifle  to  my  shoulder, 
giving  myself  up  for  lost.  But  he  moved 
not,  and  watching  him,  I  perceived  that  he 
did  not  see  me  at  all  —  the  which  is  proof 
that  the  stone  makes  one  to  be  invisible. 
At  this  I  took  heart,  and  with  a  true  aim  on 


The  Witch  Deer.  95 

his  throat,  fired.  He  leaped  thus  high  in 
the  air  and  fell  dead ;  and  coming-  to  him,  I 
found  that  the  ball  had  broken  his  neck. 

"His  meat  I  did  not  touch,  for  besides 
being  accursed,  he  had  killed  my  Luis,  whose 
bones  I  brought  away  to  Christian  ground 
in  Abiquiu.  But  in  the  first  fork  of  the 
horns,  which  were  taller  than  my  head,  I 
found  this  stone  which  you  see.  Since  I 
have  that,  I  kill  whatsoever  deer  with  ease, 
because  they  cannot  see  me.  What  think 
you,  then?'* 

We  sat  for  a  few  moments  silent,  watch 
ing  the  flames  that  licked  and  twisted  about 
the  cedar  sticks  in  the  fireplace.  Anastacio 
was  voiceless,  with  an  awe  too  strong  even 
for  his  boyish  excitement;  and  as  for  me, 
the  story  of  Luis's  death  had  brought  back 
some  vivid  and  uncanny  memories.  But 
Don  Jose,  who  really  cared  enough  for  me  to 
wish  to  lead  me  out  of  the  darkness  of  error, 
followed  the  matter  up. 

"  Do  you  not  see,  Don  Carlos,  that  there 
are  Witch  Deer?  For  look  at  his  fierceness, 
and  that  he  could  not  be  hurt  until  I  had  a 
charm-stone  like  his  own.  And  you  know 
that  I  tell  you  truth." 

"Yes,  old  fellow,  I  know  you  tell  me  the 
truth  as  you  see  it.  But  it  is  nothing 
strange  for  a  buck  to  be  bravo  in  the  fall — 


96  The  Witch  Deer. 

that  I  myself  have  suffered  by.  And  I 
fancy  you  could  have  killed  him  before,  if 
you  had  not  felt  so  sure  that  you  couldn't." 
Then  I  was  rather  ashamed  to  have  said 
even  so  much,  and  as  gently  as  it  could  be 
said,  for  I  do  not  admire  the  always-superior 
person.  But  the  old  man  understood,  and 
was  not  offended;  only  he  shook  his  head 
with  real  sadness,  and  said : 

"Ah,  that  way  was  Luis.     God  keep  you 
from  being  taught  as  he  wasl" 


Felipe's  Sugaring-off 


Felipe's  Sugaring-off. 

THE  great  water-wheel  was  trundling 
as  fast  as  ever  the  white  impulse  from 
the  old  stone  aqueduct  could  kick  it  along. 
The  wheel,  indeed,  grumbled  at  so  much 
hard  work;  but  the  water  only  laughed  and 
danced  as  the  big  iron  jaws  of  the  trapiche* 
chewed  up  the  yellow  culms  of  sugar  cane 
and  spat  to  one  side  the  useless  pith,  while 
the  sweet,  dark  sap  crept  sluggishly  down 
the  iron  conduit  toward  the  sugar-house. 
In  front  was  a  very  mountain  of  cane 
brought  from  the  fields  by  bullock  carts; 
and  half  a  dozen  sinewy  negroes  were  feed 
ing  it,  an  armful  at  a  time,  between  the  rolls 
of  the  mill.  Behind  it  others  with  wooden 
forks  were  spreading  the  crushed  cane  to 
dry  for  a  day,  after  which  it  would  be  used 
as  fuel  to  boil  its  own  plundered  juice.  Off 
beyond  the  sugar  building  gleamed  the 
white  Moorish  walls  of  the  tile-roofed  chapel 
and  manor  house,  built  three  hundred  years 
ago,  when  Peru  was  the  richest  crown  jewel 

*  Tra-pe«-clie.  99 


ioo  Felipe's    Sugaring-off. 

of  Spain.  Everywhere  else  stretched  the 
great  fields  of  cane  —  to  the  very  foot  of  the 
sandhills  of  the  encroaching-  desert,  to  the 
very  rim  of  the  blue  Pacific.  What  an  im 
mensity  of  sugar  it  all  meant! 

The  same  thought  struck  the  grizzled 
administrador*  this  morning  as  he  stood  on 
a  pier  of  the  aqueduct  —  just  where  its 
stream  pounced  upon  the  lazy  wheel  —  and 
swept  the  scene  with  those  watchful  old 
eyes.  "  Of  a  truth,"  he  was  saying  to  him 
self,  "the  world  must  be  very  large,  as 
they  say,  and  many  must  eat  nothing  else, 
for  here  we  make  every  day  forty  thousand 
pounds  of  sugar,  three  hundred  days  of 
the  year,  and  there  are  many  other  sugar 
haciendas  in  Peru,  though  maybe  none  so 
big  as  Villa.  Truly,  I  know  not  where  it  all 
goes.  Holal  Always  that  fellow!"  and, 
springing  to  the  ground  as  lightly  as  a  boy, 
in  two  bounds  he  was  at  the  mill. 

There  four  of  the  negro  laborers  were  in 
sudden  struggle  with  a  newcomer  from  the 
quarters — a  huge  black  fellow,  whose  brut 
ish  face  was  now  distorted  by  drunken 
rage.  He  was  naked  to  the  waist,  and  his 
dark  hide  bulged  with  tremendous  muscles, 
as  he  swayed  his  four  grapplers  to  and  fro, 
trying  to  free  his  right  hand,  which  clasped 

r  Administrah-dore;  overseer. 


Felipe's    Sugaring-off.  101 

a  heavy  machete.  This  murderous  combi 
nation  of  sword  and  cleaver,  which  lopped 
the  stubborn  cane  at  a  blow,  had  found 
worse  employment  now,  for  a  red  stain  ran 
down  its  broad  blade,  and  on  the  ground  lay 
a  man  clenching-  a  stump  of  arm.  Old 
Melito  paused  for  no  questions,  but,  pluck 
ing-  up  a  heavy  bar  of  algarroba,  smote  so 
strong-ly  upon  the  desperado's  woolly  pate 
that  the  ironwood  broke.  The  black  giant 
reeled  and  fell,  and  one  of  the  men  wrenched 
away  the  machete  and  flung-  it  into  the  pool 
below  the  wheel. 

"  He  came  very  drunk,  and  only  because 
Roque  brushed  ag-ainst  him  with  an  armful 
of  cane  he  wanted  to  kill  him,"  said  the  men 
as  they  knotted  their  grimy  handkerchiefs 
upon  the  wrists  and  ankles  of  the  stunned 
black. 

"You  did  well  to  hold  him,"  replied  the 
administrador.  "Bring-  now  the  irons  and 
we  will  put  him  in  the  calaboz  till  to-mor 
row.  Then  he  shall  g-o  to  Lima  to  the 
prison,  for  we  can  have  no  fig-hting-  here, 
nor  men  of  trouble." 

A  slender,  big--eyed  Spanish  boy  coming- 
out  a  few  moments  later  from  the  great 
castle  arch  of  the  manor  house  saw  four 
peons  lug-ging-  away  between  them  the  long 


IO2  Felipe's    Sugaring-off. 

bulk  of  the  prisoner,  and  stopped  to  ask 
the  trouble. 

"Ah !  That  bad  Coco.  That  he  may 
never  come  back  from  Lima,"  said  the 
young-  Spaniard  earnestly.  "He  is  a  terror 
to  all,  and  now  I  fear  he  will  kill  Don  Melito, 
for  Coco  never  forgets.  I  shall  ask  my 
father  to  see  the  prefect,  that  they  keep 
him  away.  And  the  sugar?" 

Felipe  never  tired  of  following-  all  the 
processes  with  a  grave  air,  as  if  it  all  rested 
upon  his  small  shoulders.  A  boy  who  never 
felt  that  he  was  "helping" — if  such  a  very 
helpless  boy  ever  existed — has  lost  one  of 
the  best  things  in  all  boyhood,  and  Felipe 
could  not  have  understood  such  a  boy  at  all. 
He  went  on  now  and  joined  Don  Melito, 
and  the  two  stood  together  watching  the 
vat  with  professional  eyes  while  two  ne 
groes  plied  their  plashing  hoes.  It  was  very 
hot  work  even  to  watch  it,  but  a  good  admin- 
istrador  would  never  trust  this  to  the  labor 
ers. 

"Now  you  watch  it  a  little,"  said  Don 
Melito  suddenly,  with  roguish  gravity, 
looking  at  the  boy's  preoccupied  face.  "As 
for  me,  I  must  see  how  are  ihepailas,"  and 
he  climbed  the  steps  to  the  platform  where 
the  caldrons  were  hissing  with  their  new 
supply  of  sap. 


Felipe's    Sugaring-off.  103 

Felipe,  thus  left  alone  with  the  heaviest 
responsibility  he  had  ever  borne,  knit  his 
smooth  brows  very  hard  and  peered  into 
the  vat  as  if  the  fate  of  nations  hung-  on 
his  eyes.  For  the  first  time  he  began  to 
doubt  them.  He  wondered  if  it  were  not 
worked  enough — if  he  had  not  better  stop 
the  hoes  and  get  the  molders  to  work.  If 
only  Don  Melito  would  come  back  and 
decide  for  him! 

But  Don  Melito  was  not  here,  and  there 
were  no  signs  of  his  coming.  Perhaps  he 
was  leaving  Felipe  to  find  out  the  differ 
ence  between  knowing  how  some  one  else 
does  a  thing  and  how  to  do  it  one's  self. 
The  boy  fidgeted  up  and  down  and  looked 
at  the  vat  first  from  one  end  and  then  from 
the  other,  and  grew  more  doubtful  the  more 
he  looked. 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  know"  he 
cried  to  himself.  "But  sure  it  is  that  I 
must  do  something,  for  he  left  me  in  charge 
and  perhaps  is  busy  with  other  matters, 
thinking  I  would  not  let  it  be  spoiled.  Put 
it  in  the  molds!" 

The  men  leaned  their  candied  hoes  against 
the  wall.  The  molders  began  ladling  their 
buckets  full,  and,  in  turn,  filling  the  shallow 
molds.  The  color  there  darkened  again  as 
sudden  crystallization  set  in;  but  Felipe 


IO4  Felipe's    Sugaring-off. 

felt  a  great  load  lifted  off  his  shoulders. 
He  was  very  sure  now  that  it  was  a  good 
color — not  a  hint  of  the  hateful  underdone 
black,  but  a  soft,  rich  brown,  shading  to 
gold  at  the  thin  edges. 

Now  he  was  free — the  laborers  could 
attend  to  the  rest,  as  usual — and  he  would 
go  and  hunt  for  Don  Melito.  He  ran  up  the 
steps  and  along  the  platform — and  half 
way  stopped  short,  as  if  he  had  run  against 
a  wall. 

The  rusty  irons  should  never  have  been 
trusted  with  that  giant's  strength !  They 
might  do  for  common  men,  but  for  Coco — 
as  soon  as  consciousness  came  back  to  him, 
and  with  it  the  old  rage,  he  had  snapped 
them,  and,  wrenching  out  the  iron  bars 
from  the  window  of  the  calaboz,  had  come 
for  his  revenge.  Even  now  he  was  shaking 
his  wrists,  one  still  hooped  with  the  iron 
band,  before  the  old  administrador1  s  face, 
and  hissing:  "You!  You  did  me  this  I  And 
now  I  will  boil  you  1" 

Don  Melito  stood  still  and  gray  as  a  stone, 
looking  up  into  Coco's  eyes.  His  hat  was  in 
his  hand  on  account  of  the  heat;  but  now  he 
put  it  on  as  if  scorning  to  stand  uncovered 
before  the  fellow  —  put  it  steadily  upon  the 
curling  gray  hair  that  reached  barely  to  the 
level  of  those  great  naked  chest  muscles. 


Felipe's    Sugaring-off.  105 

"I  did  strike  you  down  and  ordered  you 
to  be  ironed,  Coco,"  he  said  quietly,  "and  I 
would  do  so  again.  Now  I  am  going  to  send 
you  to  Lima.  There  is  no  place  at  Villa  for 
people  like  you." 

But  Coco  leaped  upon  him  like  the  black 
jaguar,  and  clutched  him  with  those  long, 
knotted  arms.  Melito  was  sinewy  and  lithe 
as  a  cat,  but  he  was  no  match  for  this  huge 
foe.  He  fought  for  life,  but  Coco  with  the 
equal  desperation  of  hate.  Struggle  as  he 
would,  he  was  borne  back  and  back  until  his 
legs  cringed  from  the  glow  of  the  faila. 
At  this  he  made  so  wild  a  lunge  that  it  bore 
them  back  a  few  feet;  but  it  was  only  for  a 
moment.  Inch  by  inch  the  negro  urged  him 
toward  that  bubbling  roar  which  seemed  to 
drown  all  other  sounds.  And  even  now, 
with  a  wild  chuckle,  the  giant  doubled  him 
backward  against  the  edge  of  the  paila^ 
with  a  black,  resistless  palm  under  his  chin. 

Only  an  instant  had  Felipe  stopped, 
frozen,  at  sight  of  Coco;  in  another  he  had 
sprung  to  the  rail,  shrieking  to  the  men  be 
low:  "Juan!  Sancho!  Quico!  Come!  "  And 
then,  rushing  at  the  struggle,  he  flung  him 
self  as  ferociously  upon  Coco  as  Coco  had 
attacked  Don  Melito.  But  it  seemed  as  if 
he  were  back  in  some  dreadful  dream.  He 
hammered  with  futile  fists  upon  that  bare 


io6  Felipe's    Sugar! ng-ofF. 

and  mighty  back,  and  caught  a  fierce  hold 
about  one  of  those  gnarled  legs  and  tugged 
to  trip  it,  and  kicked  it  with  crazy  feet.  But 
it  was  all  with  the  nightmare  sense  that  he 
was  doing  nothing  by  all  his  efforts.  Indeed, 
it  is  half  doubtful  if  the  infuriated  Coco 
knew  at  all  of  this  attack  in  the  rear.  What 
to  him  were  the  peckings  of  a  twelve-year- 
old  boy? 

Would  the  men  never  come?  Felipe  re 
doubled  his  kicks  and  blows,  but  with  a 
sickening  fear.  Don  Melito  was  weaken 
ing — already  his  head  was  thrust  back  over 
the  steam  of  the  paila.  Only  for  his  arms 
locked  about  the  giant's  waist,  he  would  go 
in.  And  now  Coco's  huge  hand  came  behind 
him  and  wrenched  at  the  old  man's  slender 
ones,  tearing  open  finger  by  finger  resist- 
lessly.  In  another  moment  it  would  be  too 
late  to  think. 

Aha,  Mr.  Coco!  The  boy  sprang  to  the 
second  paila  and  snatched  the  long-handled 
skimmer  that  leaned  against  it,  and,  dip 
ping  it  full  from  the  caldron,  flung  the 
molten  sugar  squarely  upon  Coco's  back. 
Howling,  the  negro  whirled  about,  dropping 
the  half-senseless  administrador  from  him, 
and  sprang  at  Felipe.  But  the  boy  stood 
stiff  and  very  white,  holding  the  ladle  back 
aloft.  "  This  time  in  the  eyes  1 "  he  cried, 


Felipe's   Sugaring-off.  107 

hoarsely.  "  If  you  touch  Don  Melito  again, 
or  me,  I  will  throw  it  in  your  face  !  " 

Even  Coco  hesitated  at  this.  He  was  not 
too  drunk  with  rage  to  know  what  boiling- 
sugar  meant.  Plainly,  this  little  fool  had  the 
advantage.  He  must  be  tricked  —  and  then 

.  But  just  then  a  wan  smile  flitted  across 

Felipe's  face,  and,  as  Coco  half  turned  his 
head  to  see  what  pleasing  thing  could  be  be 
hind  him,  he  got  a  glimpse  of  Pancho,  the 
horse-breaker,  and  something  dark  and 
wavy  in  the  air.  He  ducked  forward,  but 
a  rope  settled  upon  his  broad  shoulders, 
tightening  like  iron,  and  he  was  jerked 
backward  to  the  ground,  and  a  dozen  men 
were  upon  him. 

Coco  made  no  more  trouble  on  the 
hacienda  of  Villa.  At  Lima  he  found  the 
prompt  justice  which  sometimes  happens 
in  Peru.  Don  Melito  was  in  bed  several 
days,  for  he  had  been  roughly  handled  in 
body  and  in  nerves.  The  first  day  on  which 
he  could  sit  up  a  little,  Felipe  brought  him 
a  cake  of  chancaca. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  old  man,  laying 
it  on  the  coverlet.  Sugar  was  an  old  story 
to  him. 

"But  you  must  taste  this,  my  administra- 
dor,  and  see  if  it  is  all  right." 


io8  Felipe's    Sugaring-off. 

"It  is  good,"  answered  Melito,  munching 
submissively.  And  then,  with  a  sudden 
light:  " It  is  very  good — as  good  as  I  could 
have  made  myself.  Quite  right.  And  I 
think  you  sent  it  to  the  molds  at  just  the 
right  time  I" 


Andres,  the  Arriero 


Andres  the  Arriero. 
i. 

4  4  T  T  UFA  mula!     Que  familial " 

JL  1  The  command  was  right  enough, 
for  the  beast  barely  moved,  and  any  one  who 
ever  had  to  do  with  mules  may  very  likely 
have  •  cried  out,  with  Andres,  "  What  a 
family ! ' '  But  no  one  but  Andres,  I  am  sure, 
would  have  said  it  here.  By  the  time  you 
get  up  to  16,000  feet  in  the  Andes,  if  you 
are  not  dead  altogether,  you  certainly  have 
no  breath  to  spare —  not  even  so  much  as  to 
say,  "This  mouth  is  mine."  As  for  exhort 
ing  a  pack-mule  to  "get  up"  or  trying  to 
make  it  ashamed  of  its  blood  relations,  why, 
you  couldn't  if  you  would.  If  some  one 
were  to  stand  at  the  head  of  the  pass  offer 
ing  you  a  dollar  a  word  for  remarks,  the 
chances  are  a  hundred  to  one  that  you  would 
find  yourself  without  either  the  ambition  or 
the  lungs  to  earn  a  nickel.  It  is  a  very 
strange  thing,  as  well  as  a  very  frightful 
one,  how  these  great  altitudes  clutch  you 

Pronounced,  An-drayce;  and  Arriero  (arry-ay-ro),  man 
in  charge  of  a  pack  train. 


1 1 2  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

by  the  windpipe,  and  turn  your  heart's 
strong  beat  to  the  last  flutter  of  a  wounded 
bird,  and  fill  your  eyes  with  strange  red 
threads  and  your  ears  with  a  dull  tap!  tap  I 
tap  1  so  that  you  can  count  your  pulse  simply 
by  listening.  Worse  still,  how  there  seems 
to  have  been  turned  somewhere  a  sly  faucet 
which  has  let  the  last  drop  of  strength  drip 
away  before  you  knew  it.  But  very  lucky 
indeed  are  you  if  that  is  all.  Many  more 
than  escape  with  these  unpleasant  symp 
toms  have  worse.  There  is  a  horrible 
nausea,  as  much  beyond  seasickness  as 
that  is  beyond  a  plain  stomach-ache,  and 
nearly  every  one  gets  it  above  a  certain 
height.  Then  come  sudden  hemorrhages 
from  nose,  mouth,  ears,  eyes,  finger-tips, 
and  so  on  to  the  last.  These  symptoms 
and  any  of  them  mean,  "  Get  down  stairs 
instanter."  If  you  cannot  get  down  fast 
enough  you  will  be  carried  down — too  late 
to  do  you  any  good.  I  have  seen  great, 
powerful  men  fall  there  as  an  ox  falls  when 
the  ax  is  laid  to  its  head,  and  never  rise 
again  nor  again  be  conscious.  At  less  ele 
vations  I  have  seen  robust  men  go  dead  in 
twenty-four  hours  with  no  disease  on  earth 
but  the  altitude.  Only  recently  an  acquaint 
ance  of  mine  visiting  a  town  but  12,500  feet 
above  the  sea  went  to  bed  in  perfect  health 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  113 

and — "  woke  up  dead  in  the  morning-,"  as  a 
Celtic  mutual  friend  related  in  all  sincerity. 
Still,  the  only  certain  thing-  about  it  is 
that  if  you  go  high  enough  you  will  pay  the 
penalty;  but  no  one  can  tell  you  how  high 
that  is,  nor  can  you  yourself  learn  finally, 
even  by  experiment.  You  may  start  out 
with  a  party  from  one  of  the  inland  towns 
of  Peru,  say  at  an  elevation  of  7,000  to  8,000 
feet  —  and  even  there  many  are  greatly 
affected  by  the  altitude.  One  of  the  party, 
and  perhaps  the  most  robust  looking-,  may 
become  so  dangerously  sick  at  10,000  feet 
that  he  will  have  to  be  sent  back  at  once. 
The  rest  may  go  on  safely  to  12,000  feet, 
and  there  another  succumb,  and  so  on. 
And  you  may  (though  it  is  very  unlikely) 
toil  on  even  up  to  17,000  or  18,000  feet  with 
out  serious  symptoms,  and  then  a  few  days 
later  be  so  terribly  affected  at  10,000  feet 
that  only  the  most  rapid  removal  to  lower 
levels  will  save  your  life.  Myself,  I  have 
never  felt  the  mountain  sickness.  But  then, 
my  constitution  is  a  most  extraordinarily 
pig-headed  one,  which  seems  to  butt  against 
almost  any  wall  with  impunity.  I  have 
climbed  and  worked  hard  at  considerably 
over  19,000  feet,  and  for  a  long  time  lived 
from  12,000  to  15,000  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
never  felt  anything  worse  than  room  for  an 


H4  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

extra  pair  of  lungs,  there  where  is  really 
precious  little  air  to  breathe.  But  warning- 
was  all  around,  so  that  I  never  felt  quite 
sure  my  turn  would  not  come  next. 

There  is  much  in  habit,  of  course.  You 
all  remember  the  Irishman's  horse  which 
learned  to  live  on  shaving's  —  though  un 
fortunately  it  died  just  as  it  was  becom 
ing  accustomed  to  this  economical  diet. 
And  lungs,  too,  can  get  used  to  living  on 
such  shavings  as  the  upper  air  —  that  is,  if 
there  are  lungs  enough  and  you  give  them 
long  enough.  Many  die  in  the  learning,  but 
in  centuries  a  type  is  fixed.  So  with  Andres. 
His  fathers  for  a  thousand  years  had 
breathed  no  heavier  air  than  that  of  the 
great  Bolivian  plateau.  He  had  been  born 
on  one  of  the  "little  hills"  beside  Lake 
Titi-caca,  and  brought  up  there.  Leadville 
is  the  highest  considerable  town  in  North 
America,  and  it  is  too  elevated  for  a  great 
many  people ;  but  Andres  had  never  in  his 
life  got  so  low  as  11,000  feet.  If  he  were 
suddenly  set  down  in  New  York  his  lungs 
would  be  almost  as  much  embarrassed 
as  would  yours  if  you  were  so  suddenly 
snatched  up  to  his  skyward  home.  He 
might  almost  call  for  an  ax  to  break  that 
thick  air  up  into  breathing  chunks !  And 
you,  sitting  with  bloodshot  eyes  and  open 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  1 1 5 

mouth,  would  be  wondering- what  skim-milk 
atmosphere  was  this,  that  in  ten  min 
utes'  gasping-  you  could  not  g-et  as  fair  a  fill 
to  your  lung-s  as  you  now  get  with  every 
breath  you  draw. 

The  mule  was  a  well-seasoned  mule,  born 
in  Puno  and  never  any  nearer  sea  level  than 
that  12,500-foot  town.  True,  it  was  now 
some  4,000  feet  nearer  the  sky,  and  barely 
crawling-  up  the  pass.  At  every  half-dozen 
or  dozen  paces  it  paused  to  groan  despair 
ingly,  panting  full  five  minutes  before  it 
could  go  another  step.  But  that  was  a  good 
mule.  If  you  wished  to  see  what  an  ordin 
ary  mule  did  in  the  pass,  you  had  only  to 
look  at  either  side  of  the  trail  almost  any 
where.  There  were  hundreds  of  bleached 
skeletons  lying  just  where  they  had  fallen, 
but  white  as  thesnowsupon  the  peaksabove. 
Here  and  there  were  even  the  bones  of  the 
llama* — the  highest-dwelling  quadruped  on 
earth.  As  for  horses,  their  usefulness 
ceases  long  before  reaching  such  altitudes 
as  that  of  the  Quimca-chata.  I  have  seen 
people  who  had  an  air  of  feeling  that  the 
mule  ought  always  to  be  begging  pardon 
for  being  alive,  and  that  nature  was  in 
pretty  small  business  when  she  made  him. 

*  Ll-yoTi-ma.  Double  1  in  Spanish  always  has  the  sound 
that  it  has  in  our  word  "  million." 


u6  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

But  that,  of  course,  is  a  notion  of  very  unin 
formed  folk.  In  fact,  as  all  know  who  have 
stirred  out  a  little,  the  mule  is  the  most 
broadly  useful  animal  in  the  service  of  man. 
The  horse  can  run  faster,  the  elephant 
carry  heavier  loads,  the  llama  climb  higher 
above  the  clouds;  but  no  other  beast  can 
carry  so  much  so  far,  so  fast,  so  low  and  so 
high  as  this  unpretentious  and  maligned 
big-ears;  and  wherever  civilized  man  has 
had  to  conquer  the  wilderness  this  has  been 
his  best  friend. 

Something-  of  this  was  in  the  thought  of 
the  traveler  sprawled  beside  the  apacketa 
at  the  head  of  the  pass — watching  now  the 
gasping  saddle-mule  near  him,  and  now 
the  rest  of  his  small  caravan  as  it  crept 
upward.  He  was  breathing  with  open 
mouth,  but  otherwise  showed  no  traces  of 
the  hour's  climb  since  he  left  Andres  and 
the  pack-beast,  and  tramped  on,  driving 
his  own  mule  ahead  rather  than  ride  the 
distressed  beast. 

"Yes,"  he  was  saying  (but  to  himself; 
which  called  for  no  expenditure  of  breath), 
"old  Tom  Moore,  Crook's  chief  packer,  was 
right  when  he  used  to  say,  'God  made  mules 
a-purpose !'  How  they  have  been  the  right 
hand  of  the  pioneer  in  both  Americas.  Bien, 
Andres — so  you  got  him  up  at  last." 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  117 

Andres  took  off  his  frowsy  hat,  leaving- 
upon  his  head  the  long-peaked  knit  cap  of 
vicuna*  wool,  removed  from  his  mouth  the 
quid  of  coca  leaves  he  had  been  chewing-, 
and  flung-  the  wad  ag-ainst  the  rough,  up 
right  stone,  which  was  already  pimpled  all 
over  with  similar  offerings.  No  mount 
ain  Indian  of  Bolivia  would  any  more  think 
of  passing  such  a  monument  at  the  crest  of 
a  pass  without  making  this  sacrifice  than 
you  would  think  of  going  into  church  with 
your  hat  on. 

"fSV,  viracocha"  he  answered,  with  a  slow, 
good-natured  smile;  and  went  on  in  his 
stumbling  mixture  of  Spanish  and  Aymara. 
"You  ought  to  bite  the  coca,  ps,  viracocha, 
that  the  sorojchi  catch  you  not.  For  so  do 
we  of  the  mountains,  and  by  it  we  get  our 
strength.  Take" — and  he  drew  from  his 
left-hand  pouch  a  pinch  of  the  dried  leaves 
and  a  bit  of  lime. 

The  American  shook  his  head,  with  a 
smile,  as  much  as  to  say:  "Thanks,  but  I 
need  it  not."  Then  he  rose,  with  a  signifi 
cant  glance  at  the  clouds,  and  made  a  ges 
ture  of  haste,  pointing  to  the  trail  which 
from  their  feet  dipped  far  downward  to  the 
east. 

*  Vee-coon-ya.  The  Spanish  letter  n  has  always  the 
sound  of  ny  in  "lanyard." 


n8  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

Andres  cinched  up  the  sagging-  chipas  on 
the  pack-mule,  setting-  his  bare  foot  against 
its  ribs  and  hauling  at  the  hair  rope  with 
main  strength.  The  traveler  likewise 
tightened  his  saddle-girth  and  swung  up. 
Half  an  hour  more,  and  they  were  some 
miles  down  the  slope,  descending  at  a  gait 
which  was  decidedly  smart  compared  with 
the  snail's  pace  of  the  last  few  hours. 
Through  gaps  in  the  foothills  ahead  came 
now  and  then  wondrous  outlooks  across  the 
upper  Bolivian  plateau.  Off  to  the  left  was 
the  glorious  blue  of  Titi-caca,  highest  great 
lake  in  the  world ;  behind  it,  and  stretching 
far  to  the  right,  the  still  more  glorious 
white  of  the  great  Andes  of  Bolivia. 

"There,  mps,  is Mururata,  the  Beheaded," 
said  the  arriero,  pointing  to  a  flat-topped 
peak  far  lower  than  the  rest,  but  still  tall 
enough  to  wear  eternal  snow.  uThe  gods 
cut  off  its  head  long  ago,  to  punish  pride, 
and  set  it  over  yonder,  where  you  will  soon 
see  it  smoke — for  now  it  is  a  fire  mount 
ain."  Andres  trotted  along,  pointing, 
chattering,  smiling,  as  if  breath  were  quite 
the  cheapest  thing  on  earth. 

Just  then  the  traveler  found  a  little,  too — 
but  not  for  the  lost  head  of  Mururata.  He 
•was  staring  across  a  saddle  in  the  hills  with 
very  much  such  a  face  of  incredulity  and 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  119 

bewilderment  as  one  might  wear  at  sight 
of  a  ghost. 

"Seest  thou?"  he  demanded  of  the  arri- 
ero.  "Confuse  me,  but  I  thought  there 
was  no  such  thing  as  a  wheel  in  the  coun 
try,  except  the  Chililaya  stage." 

"Oh,  si,  viracocha — in  La  Paz  are  five 
or  six  carriages!  And  yonder  will  be  the 
Jauregui  going  to  their  chacra"* 

A  top  buggy  of  most  ancient  pattern  was 
creeping  up  around  the  turn  at  the  heels  of 
four  tired  mules.  In  a  few  moments  the 
travelers  were  not  far  apart ;  and  now  An 
dres's  employer  broke  out  afresh,  but  in  a 
lower  tone : 

"  Oyez  I  But  where  is  the  feast  to  which 
these  maromeros  go?" 

They  did  look  clown-like  enough,  to  be 
sure.  The  driver  was  clearly  an  Aymara 
Indian,  and  showed  nothing  more  peculiar 
than  the  quaint  garb  of  his  people.  But  at 
his  left  sat  two  tall  and  surprising  figures 
in  long  linen  dusters  and  white  peaked 
caps.  The  latter  were  shaped  something 
like  fools'  caps;  but  instead  of  ending  at 
the  ears  came  down  upon  the  shoulders, 
over  the  whole  head.  Eye  and  mouth  holes 
and  a  woven  nose  gave  them  a  finish  as 
uncanny  as  it  was  strange. 

*  Chacra— a  farm. 


I2O  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

"A  Dios,  caballeroT'1  cried  a  muffled  voice 
in  clearly  well-bred  Spanish ;  and  the  Indian 
driver  pulled  the  willing-  mules  to  a  halt. 
One  of  the  masks  leaned  from  the  carriage, 
and  from  behind  the  white  yarn  a  pair  of 
keen,  black  eyes  stared  first  at  the  pack- 
mule  and  then  at  the  American. 

"Pardon  the  molesting-,  but  you  carry  a 
machine  of  the  photograph,  is  it  not?" 

The  tripod  stretching-  along-  the  pack- 
beast  from  ears  to  tail,  and  the  square, 
leather  boxes  in  the  chipas  were  clear 
enoug-h,  and  the  traveler  replied  politely : 

"  As  you  see,  sir." 

"Good!  And  how  much  is  worth  a  pic 
ture?  Come,  we  will  occupy  you." 

"Infinite  thanks,  cavaliers,  but  I  do  not 
sell.  And  pardon,  for  I  am  in  haste." 

"  How  not?"  There  was  an  incredulous 
flash  in  the  ambushed  eyes,  and  the  voice 
had  lost  the  edg-e  of  its  courtesy.  "We 
have  money  in  hand,  and  we  wish  to  take 
out  our  pictures." 

"I  lament  it,  sirs;  but  you  ask  the  im 
possible.  The  g-overnment  of  Bolivia  has 
entered  my  materials  free  of  duty,  seeing- 
that  I  come  on  a  scientific  mission;  and  in 
return,  that  your  native  artists  shall  not 
have  whereof  to  complain,  I  am  pledg-ed  to 
sell  no  pictures.  It  often  pains  me,  know- 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  121 

ing  how  one  feels  for  a  picture  here  where 
artists  are  few.  But  in  any  event,  I  make 
vistas  only  for  the  one  purpose,  and  need  all 
the  plates  we  brought." 

The  maskers  evidently  did  not  credit  any 
such  absurd  story.  The  gringo — he  was 
a  gringo,  of  course,  in  spite  of  his  comfort 
able  Spanish — pues>  he  knew  them  for  rich 
and  was  holding  off  for  a  big  offer. 

"  Well,  we  will  give  fifty  bolivianos.*  Get 
in  and  we  will  carry  you  to  the  chacra. 
There  is  your  home.  You  shall  stay  so 
much  as  you  will;  and  there  is  much  hunt 
ing  and  such  views  of  Illimani  as  you  have 
not  seen.  Also,  there  are  strange  monu 
ments  of  the  ancients.  Eh?  Then  one 
hundred  bolivianos!" 

"I  give  you  the  most  expressive  thanks, 
gentlemen,  and  would  willingly  see  your 
chacra.  But  I  am  bound  for  Tiahuanaco. 
And,  in  any  event,  you  must  know  that  I 
talk  not  lumber,  but  truth.  I  cannot  make 
your  pictures." 

"Listen,  then,"  muttered  the  Bolivian 
angrily,  turning  to  his  fellow-mask,  "how 
hard-headed  are  these  gringos!  Come," 
addressing  the  traveler  again,  "you  are 
too  dear.  But  we  will  say  two  hundred 

*  The  Bolivian  dollar. 


122  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

bolivianos"  and  he  held  up  a  huge  roll  of 
small  red  bank  bills. 

By  now  there  was  a  considerable  wrinkle 
in  the  traveler's  brow.  "  God  give  you 
good  evening,  cavaliers,"  he  said,  curtly. 
"  I  am  of  one  yes  and  one  no.  If  you  want 
retratos  I  know  no  place  nearer  than  La  Paz 
where  you  can  get  them.  Adios." 

He  set  spurs  to  his  mule  and  rode  off 
down  hill.  The  two  maskers  looked  blankly 
at  one  another  a  moment,  and  then  their 
mules  began  to  plod  up  the  slope  amid  a 
volley  of  Spanish  expletives.  Andres  had 
prodded  the  pack-beast  to  a  lurching  trot, 
and  ran  easily  at  its  heels. 

u  Mps,  viracocha"  he  said,  in  a  loud 
whisper,  taking  off  his  hat  again  as  he  drew 
alongside  the  traveler.  "  But  those  are  the 
Jauregui,  and  it  would  be  better  to  please 
them.  They  are  most  powerful,  and  very 
hard-headed,  too." 

uThen  let  them  butt  against  a  harder 
head.  I  can't  —  kola!  Vicunas,  no?  " 

The  frown  had  smoothed  out,  and  he  was 
snatching  the  rifle  from  its  holster  strapped 
along  the  saddle.  Away  over  on  an  opposite 
slope  a  little  brown  cloud  was  drifting. 

"  Si!    But  they  go!  "  cried  Andres. 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  123 

The  cloud  was,  indeed,  breaking-  up  in  a 
score  of  wee  brown  dots  that  scudded  like 
so  many  shadows. 

"  Too  far !  And  I  wanted  some  pelts  for 
a  little  girl  I  know.  To  try,  anyhow!  "  The 
traveler  jerked  the  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and 
fired.  "  Nothing,"  he  sighed.  "  Of  course 
not  —  it  was  a  shot  thrown  away."  But 
Andres  cried :  "  You  touched !  See  yonder, 
how  he  makes  lame  !  " 

"Your  eyes  for  it — mine  don't  reach  so 
far.  But  one  does  look  to  have  fallen  be 
hind.  Too  bad !  Now  it  is  to  run  him  down 
— a  man  even  in  a  hurry  can't  leave  the  poor 
wounded  brute  to  be  gouged  piecemeal  by 
the  condors.  Go  on  thy  best  with  the  pack- 
beast,  Andres,  and  I'll  catch  thee  at  the 
tambo,  or  sooner." 

The  arriero  ambled  on,  with  now  and  then 
a  reminding-  cudg-el  to  his  charge.  A  funny 
man,  this — no?  But  then,  no  doubt  all 
gringos  were  a  little  wrong-  in  the  head. 
To  refuse  two  hundred  bolivianos  for  a  pic 
ture,  and  then  g-o  ramping1  off  to  kill  a 
wounded  vicuna  I  Smart  are  the  Yanquis, 
yes — but  of  reason,  not  much.  As  if  the 
condors  were  to  blame  if  they  could  catch 
a  thing  injured!  And  it  can  be  that  they 
will  have  mule  as  well  as  vicuna  for  supper. 
The  viracocha  evidently  forgets  that  he  is 


124  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

on  the  ground  of  the  mountain  sickness. 
Pity  if  it  should  catch  him — since  he  is 
very  good,  unbrained  though  he  be. 

But  at  a  turn  in  the  trail  Andres  found 
other  matters  to  be  thought  of  than  the 
general  follies  and  occasional  virtues  of  the 
Yanquis.  Other  ears  than  his  had  heard 
the  rifle,  and  other  eyes  noted  the  traveler's 
tangent ;  and  now  the  young  Indian  gave  a 
start  very  like  one  of  fear  at  the  rattle  of 
wheels  behind  him  and  an  imperious  call  of 
"AUot" 

n. 

Andres  glanced  over  his  shoulder  and 
faced  about  in  his  tracks.  It  was  only  for 
an  instant  that  he  thought  of  running.  He 
might  make  a  break  down  the  rough  hill 
side,  where  the  carriage  could  not  follow, 
yes.  But  the  pack-mule,  sagging  under 
those  boxes,  of  which  the  viracocha  was  so 
tender!  The  boy's  thick  lips  drew  tight 
across  his  large,  white  teeth.  He  would 
stay.  The  instant  he  ceased  to  beset  its 
heels  the  fagged  beast  stopped  too,  and 
there  they  stood  like  two  shabby  statues, 
while  the  carriage  drew  alongside. 

"So  the  gringo  hunts,  eh?"  spoke  one 
of  the  maskers,  briskly,  stepping  down 
from  the  buggy.  "But  he  is  very  high 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  125 

priced,  it  seems  —  as  much  as  unamiable. 
Come,  tell  us  how  much  he  does  get  —  for 
in  truth  I  thought  we  offered  enough." 

"Who  knows,  your  excellency?"  stam 
mered  Andres.  "  It  is  a  month  that  I  am 
with  him  as  arriero,  and  until  now  he  pic 
tures  only  the  monuments.  And  even  of 
those  I  have  not  yet  seen  the  retratos,  for 
he  says  he  is  to  finish  them  when  we  shall 
reach  La  Paz.  Of  people  he  always  refuses 
—  as  your  excellency  saw.  Except  that 
once,  in  Copacabana,  he  pictured  an  an 
cient  beggar  at  the  gate,  taking  no  money." 

"  Ay,  but  these  gringos  are  many  sorts  of 
fools  —  and  this  one  all  sorts.  Come,  then, 
these  vistas  he  has  made,  they  will  be  in  the 
chifas.  To  see  them!" 

The  speaker's  air  and  tone  were  plainly 
those  of  one  who  has  no  dream  of  not  being 
obeyed,  and  he  fairly  stiffened  with  aston 
ishment  when  the  arriero,  rather  pale  and 
very  much  embarrassed,  stammered: 

" P-pero,  excellency,  I — I — cannot!" 

"Miral  Another  who  'cannot!'  It  is 
contagious,  then,  this  '  no  puedo  I '  Oyez  !  ' ' 
and  now  the  command  was  sharp  and  stern, 
"  Open  me  those  boxes !  " 

Andres  backed  off  a  step.  His  brown 
cheeks  were  unmistakably  gray,  and  his 
voice  faltered  as  he  replied,  humbly,  but 


126  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

stolidly:  "Do  not  shame  me,  Excellency. 
This  viracocha  hires  me,  treating-  me 
kindly.  For  arriero,  yes  —  but  even  more, 
he  has  me  to  guard  the  machine  when  he  is 
not  beside  it.  For  so  many  wish  to  peep 
in,  and  he  has  thing's  in  little  flat  boxes 
which  he  opens  only  at  night  in  a  room 
without  candles,  and  not  even  smoking  his 
cigarro.  He  says  that  to  let  in  a  so-little 
of  light  would  destroy  all.  For  that  I  am 
promised,  that  no  one  shall  open  them  nor 
touch  them.  Do  not  ask  me,  then,  excel 
lency." 

"  Ask  thee,  cannibal !  A  Jatiregui  asking 
thee?  Vaya!  lorderihee.  And  between 
winks,  too,  lest  thou  taste  the  quirt!  "  He 
snatched  from  his  driver  the  short,  leaden- 
butted  bull  whip. 

Andres  backed  away  still  farther,  till  he 
ran  up  against  the  pack  of  his  dejected 
mule,  which  stood  as  if  petrified  there. 

"  No puedo,  taita!  "  he  repeated,  with  an 
appealing  glance.  Then,  as  the  man 
reached  forth  to  pluck  the  knot  of  the  cinch 
rope,  Andres  extended  his  arm  as  a  bar 
rier,  crying,  " Haniwal  Your  excellency 
must  not!" 

At  this  actual  obstruction  the  personage 
in  the  white  hood  clearly  lost  an  already 
ruffled  temper.  He  drew  the  quirt  whis- 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  127 

fling  around  those  sturdy,  bare  calves,  and 
a  blue  welt  stood  up  there.  Another  cut, 
and  another.  The  stolid  face  changed  little, 
but  the  legs  shifted  uneasily. 

"Haniiua,  is  it?"  The  ambushed  eyes 
seemed  fairly  outside  the  mask  now,  so 
angrily  they  shone.  "Then  we  will  see! 
To  beat  a  little  more  manners  into  that 
thick  skull."  He  shifted  the  quirt  in  his 
hand,  clubbing  the  loaded  end  over  An 
dres's  head.  The  arriero  flung  up  his 
hands.  He  was  a  sinewy  young  man,  very 
probably  much  more  powerful  than  his  tall 
assailant.  Nor  was  he  thinking  of  the  odds 
of  those  two  more  in  the  carriage.  It  was 
tradition,  not  cowardice,  that  stayed  his 
hands — how  could  this  arriero  and  son  of 
arrieros  think  to  strike  a  don?  For  he  was 
born  and  bred  in  a  country  where  there  is 
still  such  a  thing  as  respect — sometimes 
misapplied,  as  now ;  but  broadly  so  honor 
able  that  I  wish  some  reciprocity  treaty 
might  enable  us  to  import  some  of  it  for 
northern  use. 

The  leaden  butt  fell  across  his  guard, 
and  one  hand  dropped  to  his  side.  The 
other  he  drew  before  his  eyes. 

*  *  Come !  Will  thou  open,  or  shall  I  crack 
that  foolish  squash-head?" 


128  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

Andres  did  not  move.  "  Hani-wal"  he 
muttered  in  the  same  slow,  stupid  way, 
shutting-  his  eyes  as  the  club  rose  again. 
But  just  then  a  voice  called  from  the 
carriage : 

"To  what  use,  brother?  They  are  no 
more  than  clods.  Beat  one  to  death,  and 
you  shall  not  change  him.  Let  Pepe  tie 
him  and  then  we  can  verify  the  boxes." 

The  one  with  the  quirt  hesitated  a  mo 
ment.  His  blood  was  hot,  and  the  brute  in 
him  ached  to  beat  away  at  this  maddening 
stupid.  His  hand  dropped  reluctantly,  and 
he  growled : 

"As  thou  wilt.     Rope  him  then,  Pepe." 

But  if  the  arriero  had  stood  dumb  under 
the  lash  of  his  superior,  it  was  another  page 
in  the  almanac  when  a  brown  fellow  of  his 
own  blood  and  station  caug-ht  him  by  the 
arms  and  started  to  pass  a  reata  around 
him.  Andres  doubled  forward  at  the  waist, 
clumsily  but  resistlessly.  His  tousled  head 
struck  Pepe  on  the  mouth,  and  that  too- 
ready  henchman  rolled  heavily  in  the  road. 
Andres  sprang-  upon  him  and  flung-  fistfuls 
of  dust  in  his  face,  shaking  him  as  a  terrier 
does  a  rat. 

"Pig!  Who  lent  thee  a  candle  in  this 
funeral?  Thy  master  I  could  not  fight. 
But  thou,  barbarian " 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  129 

"  Socorro!  "  bawled  Pepe,  quite  helpless 
in  the  clutch  of  his  exasperated  rider. 
"Take  him  off!" 

"I  '11  take  him  off!  "  growled  the  master, 
and  he  ran  forward,  swinging  the  club  about 
his  head.  Woe  is  me  for  thy  skull,  Andre- 
sito,  if  that  ounce  of  lead  befall  it  squarely 
from  behind! 

III. 

When  the  "gringo"  and  his  laboring 
mule  pitched  down  the  side  of  a  very 
considerable  barranca,  their  quarry  was 
plainly  visible  four  or  five  hundred  yards 
up  the  opposite  hill.  The  rest  of  the  flock 
had  long  ago  disappeared,  and  by  now  was 
miles  away — for  they  run  almost  like  ante- 
lope,these  airy  beauties  of  the  Andes,  the 
tiniest  camels  in  the  world,  and  the  only 
graceful  ones.  But  when  mule  and  rider 
struggled  up  the  farther  bank,  the  wounded 
vicuna  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"Plague!  But  I  must  not  kill  tkee,  in 
trying  to  be  merciful  to  him,"  muttered  the 
rider,  and  he  sprang  to  the  ground.  It  was 
high  time.  The  mule  stood  gasping  in  his 
tracks,  head  down,  chin  hanging  and  knees 
quaking  violently.  The  traveler  looked  up 
and  down  him,  remorsefully  but  critically. 

"With  a  rest,  thou  'rt  all  right.  But  I 
ought  to  beg  thy  pardon  for  giving  thee  a 


130  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

fool  for  a  rider  1  Now,  my  legs  for  it  —  and 
rest  thou  here." 

The  involuntary  object  of  all  this  trouble 
was  certainly  inconsiderate.  Having  been 
so  foolish  as  to  go  and  get  wounded,  he 
should  have  waited  at  least  for  the  Sam 
aritan  to  come  up  and  give  him  the  blow  of 
mercy.  But,  instead,  he  hobbled  bleating 
on  in  pursuit  of  his  fellows,  even  long  after 
they  had  vanished.  It  was  astonishing  how^ 
this  delicate,  fawn-like  creature  could  run 
so  far  with  a  broken  leg,  and  his  well-mean^ 
ing  pursuer  began  to  find  it  more  than  as 
tonishing.  Plague  take  the  little  imbecile 
—  he  was  bound  to  make  it  as  hard  as  pos 
sible  to  do  him  a  good  turn !  It  is  odd  how 
our  minds  can  contradict  themselves — how 
we  sometimes  start  out  on  a  thoroughly 
praiseworthy  errand,  and  fall  into  very  un- 
amiable  moods  by  the  way. 

The  pursuer  was  by  now  decidedly 
angry  —  which  is  a  very  unwise  luxury  to 
be  indulged  in,  at  least  among  the  Andes. 
His  temper  was  by  no  means  calculated  to 
soothe  the  stampeding  gallop  of  his  heart ; 
and  to  see  him  gasping  up  yonder  cumbre, 
with  a  purpling  face  and  protruding  tongue, 
and  a  scowl  on  his  brow,  probably  no  stran 
ger  would  have  dreamed  that  he  was  really 
on  a  generous  errand. 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  131 

"Belike  the  condors  will  have  to  have 
thee!"  he  groaned  inwardly  —  since  not  for 
his  life,  now,  could  he  have  articulated  the 
words:  "I'm  done  up!  This  one  more 
ridge  and  it  must  end." 

But  as  he  reached  the  top  of  that  last 
ridg-e,  there  was  a  tremendous  swoosh  of 
wing's  past  him,  and  then,  from  the  hollow 
beyond,  a  scream  almost  human  in  its 
agony.  At  that  he  plucked  new  vigor,  and 
went  racing-  down  the  slope  in  a  surprising- 
spurt.  The  truth  was  that,  once  started, 
he  had  no  long-er  the  strength  to  stop  on 
that  stiff  pitch,  and  must  keep  on  till  he 
should  fall  or  fetch  up  against  some  obsta 
cle.  His  sig-ht  was  blurred,  his  head  roar 
ing-,  his  legs  numb,  and  where  his  heart 
should  be,  a  strange,  suffocating  emptiness 
seemed  to  have  come  —  and  still  he  spun  on. 
Then,  in  a  reeling  way,  he  swung  the  six- 
shooter  thrice,  firing  as  fast  as  finger  could 
pull  the  trigger ;  in  the  same  second,  sprawl 
ing  headlong  in  a  confusion  of  bleats  and 
silken  fur  and  beating  wings.  A  tremen 
dous  blow  from  one  of  the  latter  cut  his 
scalp  clear  across  the  occiput.  The  revol 
ver  blazed  again,  and,  after  a  wild  thrash 
ing,  all  was  still. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  the  hunter 
sat  up,  gazing  about  him  in  a  dazed  way. 


132  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

The  rest  and  the  chilly  air  and  the  loss  of 
blood  were  beginning  to  counteract  the 
effects  of  his  imprudent  chase. 

"Well!  The  next  time  I  shoot  before  I 
think,  I  won't  shoot!"  he  informed  himself 
without  expense  of  breath,  and  with  the 
ghost  of  a  smile.  "  Wonder  I  hadn't  killed 
myself  with  such  a  race,  up  here.  But  if 
you  start,  finish ! "  and  he  looked  compla 
cently  down  at  the  little  dead  vicuna  against 
which  he  leaned;  and  not  a  rod  away  the 
huge  vulture  sprawled  upon  its  back,  its 
wings  outstretched  a  full  dozen  feet,  its  feet 
clenched  in  the  empty  air. 

"  He  got  only  one  swipe  at  thee,  it  seems. 
It's  all  right,  so  that  I  came  in  time  to  give 
thee  a  more  merciful  death.  So  we  won't 
grudge  the  breath  it  cost  me.  But  the  least 
thanks  thou  canst  give  me  is  that  precious 
pelt."  Drawing  his  knife,  the  hunter  soon 
removed  that  very  softest  and  most  ex 
quisite  of  all  furs.  Then  with  an  uneasy 
glance  at  the  clouds  he  turned  away,  walk 
ing  as  briskly  as  his  protesting  lungs  would 
allow. 

Good !  There  was  the  mule  all  right.  It 
had  not  budged  a  foot;  and  now,  though  still 
in  an  attitude  of  utter  dejection,  was  clearly 
out  of  danger.  Directly,  master  and  mule 
were  jogging  off  toward  the  trail  at  a  most 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  133 

doleful  gait — which  doubtless  would  have 
been  mended,  if  they  could  have  seen 
through  the  rounded  hill  just  ahead.  But 
the  hill  was  opaque,  as  hills  and  circum 
stances  ahead  are  so  prone  to  be;  and  they 
pottered  along  lazily,  until,  at  a  turn  over 
the  ridge,  the  spurs  went  drumming  such 
an  unexpected  tattoo  upon  his  echoing  ribs 
that  the  mule  quite  forgot  himself,  and  went 
pitching  down  the  hill  at  a  pace  he  had  not 
taken  in  a  month. 

IV. 

Away  down  yonder,  a  superannuated 
buggy  and  its  team  stood  in  the  trail.  A 
few  rods  ahead  of  it,  and  just  at  the  heels 
of  a  wilted  pack-mule,  two  men  were  scuf 
fling  in  the  dust;  and  over  them  a  hooded 
figure  was  bringing  down  a  heavy  club. 
At  that  instant  the  pack  beast  wakened 
enough  to  'turn  his  head  interrogatively, 
cocking  one  ear  forward  and  the  other  back. 
Even  as  he  did  so,  his  nigh  hind  leg  could 
be  seen  to  gather  itself  and  suddenly  lunge 
out  behind.  A  long,  linen-shrouded  form, 
white  capped  at  one  end,  thereupon  doubled 
in  half,  and  rose  in  the  air  and  went  whirl 
ing  like  a  boomerang.  It  fell  a  full  rod 
away  and  did  not  rise.  Then  a  similar 
figure  sprang  from  the  buggy  and  rushed 


134  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

at  the  wrestlers;  but  midway  went  down  all 
at  once  in  a  loose  heap,  as  if  struck  by  a 
bullet.  No  wonder  the  stranger  up  yonder 
drummed  with  his  heels,  and  jockeyed,  and 
whooped ;  and,  finding-  his  charger  still  too 
slow,  leaped  from  its  back  and  came  bound 
ing-  down  the  hillside  like  a  loosened  rock. 

Andres  was  sitting  placidly  astride  his 
prostrate  foe,  breathing-  rather  hard,  but 
looking-  stupidly  g-ood-natured  as  ever.  One 
of  his  fingers  was  broken,  and  blood  from  a 
gash  on  his  forehead  trickled  down  his 
nose. 

" Mps,  viracocha"  he  answered  to  the 
breathless  traveler's  glance  of  inquiry, 
"the  cabalhros  were  set  to  see  the  inside  of 
your  boxes,  and  because  I  refused  they 
went  to  beat  me.  But  when  this  cannibal 
here  came  upon  me,  then  it  was  to  fight. 
The  blows  of  a  gentleman,  yes  —  but  not  of 
a  chuncho.*  So  I  measured  him,  thus.  And 
when  the  gentleman  went  to  crack  me  the 
squash  with  his  quirt,  then  did  Big-Ears 
here,  forgetting  respect  to  the  powerful, 
set  heel  to  his  stomach  and  lift  him  until 
over  yonder." 

"And  this?  I  saw  him  fall  as  he  ran  at 
you,"  the  viracocha  mustered  breath  to  say. 

*C7ioon-cho-  literally,  a  "cannibal"  — the  word  used 
specifically  of  the  man-eating  tribes  of  the  upper  Amazon, 
and  in  general  as  a  term  of  reproach. 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  135 

"  He  ?  Mps,  but  it  will  be  the  sorojchi— 
see  you  not  how  the  blood  falls  from  his 
mouth  ?  And  you  see,  viracocha,  how 
strong-  is  the  coca !  Because  I  sacrificed  at 
the  apacheta,  as  one  should,  to  the  spirits  of 
the  hig-h  places,  it  has  all  come  as  the  mouth 
would  ask.  Without  that,  then,  the  gentle 
men  would  have  left  me  here,  of  no  more 
use  to  your  grace,  and  the  magic  boxes 
would  be  emptied  in  the  light. " 

When  night  came  down  on  the  Quimca- 
chata,  a  g-usty  snowstorm,  with  howling" 
intervals  of  hail,  beset  the  pass.  It  roared 
at  the  hills,  it  swooped  down  the  canons  as 
if  in  search  of  some  living-  thing-  it  might 
turn  to  ice  before  morning-.  But  inside  the 
low,  dirty  tambo,  they  only  laughed  at  its 
rag-e.  The  bald  stone  hut  in  a  little  nook 
under  the  shoulder  of  a  hill  had  neither 
window  nor  chimney;  and  a  heavy  poncho 
of  llama  hair  was  the  temporary  door.  It 
was  a  fair  type  of  the  tambos  of  the  Andes 
—  those  tenantless,  cheerless  way  side  shel 
ters  that  save  the  traveler  in  those  bleak 
lands  from  perishing-.  On  the  sooty  hearth 
a  faint  blaze  of  taqui wavered,  and  the  smoke 
wandered  out  as  best  it  could  or  made  itself 
at  home  in  the  bare  room.  Upon  the  rough 
stone  bench  along-  the  walls  sat  five  men, 


136  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

and  in  the  farther  corner  six  mules  nosed 
wistfully  in  a  rubbish  heap  for  casual 
straws.  Of  the  men  two  were  Indians,  and 
both  wore  bandaged  heads.  The  third 
guest  of  this  inn  without  a  landlord  ap 
peared  to  be  an  American,  and  he  also  had 
a  handkerchief  bound  about  his  skull.  The 
two  others  were  handsome,  swarthy  men  in 
costly  vicuna  ponchos.  They  sat  on  linen 
dusters,  from  the  pockets  of  which  peeped 
the  tasseled  ends  of  two  white  caps. 

One  member  of  the  party  cast  now  and 
then  a  sly  glance  at  these.  So,  instead  of 
clowns  going-  to  some  feast,  these  were  two 
wealthy  Bolivians.  And  those  astonishing 
head  masks  which  had  so  mystified  him 
were  merely  to  save  their  faces  from  that 
trying  mountain  air  —  so  Andres  had  in 
formed  him,  with  an  evident  effort  not  to 
pity  his  ignorance.  And  looking  at  those 
coffee  complexions  he  had  serious  work  to 
keep  from  smiling  at  the  thought  of  trying 
to  keep  them  from  sunburn. 

"  PueS)  it  is  as  well  the  tambo  was  near, 
for  none  of  us  were  in  shape  to  go  much 
farther  to-night,  even  forgetting  the  storm. 
Eat  But  how  it  howls,  as  if  disappointed !  " 

It  was  the  American  who  broke  the  si 
lence,  though  he  spoke,  of  course,  in  Spanish 


Andres,  the  Arriero.  137 

—  the  only  common  possession  of  the  five 
tongues. 

' 'You  have  reason,  caballero"  answered 
the  taller  of  the  two  dons,  courteously. 
"And  even  more  am  I  glad  that  we  make 
ourselves  pardoned.  Of  a  truth,  we  were 
most  ignorant  that  to  open  your  cases  would 
spoil  all;  nor  could  we  have  thought  to  take 
the  liberty,  but  that  we  believed  you  a  —  a 
seller  baiting-  us  for  higher  pay.  But  we 
were  well  answered.  Your  so  obstinate 
arriero  made  me  forget  myself,  and  I  give 
you  a  caballero^s  apology.  But  that  mule  — 
ay  de  mil  I  thought  Illampu  itself  had 
tumbled  upon  me !  " 

"  Verily,  senorl  I  saw  it  from  the  hill, 
and  it  was  so  prettily  done  as  I  never  could 
have  believed.  Why,  senor,  he  shut  you  at 
the  waist  like  a  knife  with  a  strong  spring ! " 

The  cavalier  smiled  a  trifle  weakly  at  the 
description,  but  he  said  frankly : 

"He  did  but  justice.  I  have  shame  to 
think  how  I  lost  a  gentleman's  temper. 
And  so  little  more  and  I  could  have  broken 
your  man's  head.  But  since  you  have  the 
fineness  to  hold  no  malice,  it  is  well." 

"Oh,  I  know  curiosity  and  temper  both. 
Only  that  it  is  Andres's  head  and  not  mine. 
But  his  need  not  be  too  sore  —  for  you  have 
caused  me  to  double  his  wages  from  to-day. 


138  Andres,  the  Arriero. 

An  arriero  that  will  stand  a  broken  head  to 
guard  the  amo's  load  —  well,  I  haven't  found 
him  very  abundant  in  Bolivia,  nor  anywhere 
else." 

"  You  have  reason  always.  And  —  er  — 
understood  that  — pues,  you  know  that  Don 
Juan  de  Jauregui  cannot  say  to  an  arriero, 
*  pardon  M  But  in  purity  of  truth,  he  is 
faithful,  and  I  would  be  glad  to  give  him  a 
well  paid  position  on  the  chacra" 

"  Eh,  Andres?  The  cavalier  offers  justly. 
What  say estthou?" 

Andres's  face  beamed  simply,  and  he 
twisted  his  skull  cap  as  he  rose  with  a 
clumsy  bow. 

"I  shall  be  glad,"  he  stammered.  "But 
only  if  —  until  —  when  that  the  viracocha 
shall  have  no  more  need  of  an  arriero.  For 
while  the  magic  boxes  have  to  ride  on  the 
ribs  of  a  mule,  it  is  safer  that  I  be  driver  — 
since  the  viracocha  has  shown  me,  and  I 
know  how  they  must  be  treated.  *  Gently ! 
Gently  I  And  for  the  life  of  you,  let  no  ligh  t 
come  into  them!' " 


Our  Yellow  Slave 


Our  Yellow   Slave. 


r"T*HE  only  metal  in  the  world  that  is 
yellow  is  the  most  precious  of  them 
all  —  gold.  Brass  is  not  a  metal,  but  an 
allo}r,  a  compound.  And  the  color  which 
gold  shares  with  the  sun  has  a  great  deal 
to  do  with  its  value.  I  do  not  suppose  it 
would  be  possible  that  we  should  ever  have 
come  to  love  and  admire  any  metal  so  much 
as  to  choose  it  for  our  highest  currency  and 
our  ornaments,  no  matter  how  rare  or  duc 
tile  it  might  be,  if  it  were  of  a  dark,  dull, 
gloomy  color.  The  human  eye  never  gets 
too  old  to  be  pleased  with  very  much  the 
same  things  which  pleased  it  in  childhood ; 
and  no  eye  is  insensible  to  that  precious 
yellow. 

I  like  sometimes  to  think  back  to  the  first 
man  of  all  men  that  ever  held  that  rock  of 
the  sun  in  his  savage  hand,  and  to  imagine 
how  he  found  it,  and  how  it  made  his  sharp 
eyes  twinkle,  and  how  he  wondered  at  its 
weight,  and  pounded  it  with  one  smooth 
rock  upon  another  and  found  he  could  flat- 

141 


142  Our  Yellow  Slave. 

ten  it.  All  these  things  come  by  accident, 
and  gold  was  an  accident  that  befell  when 
the  world  was  very  young.  No  doubt  there 
had  been  a  great  rain,  that  washed  the 
heavy  lump  from  its  nest  in  some  gravelly 
stream  bank,  and  the  prehistoric  man,  in 
his  tunic  of  skins,  chanced  that  way  and 
found  it.  Mayhap  it  was  the  very  rain  of 
the  Flood  itself,  and  the  poor  barbarian 
who  picked  up  the  yellow  nugget  sank  with 
it  still  in  his  swarthy  fist. 

We  do  not  even  know  the  name  of  the 
man  who  first  discovered  gold,  nor  where 
he  lived,  nor  when.  But  it  was  very,  very 
long  ago.  Before  the  time  of  Joseph  and 
the  coat  of  many  colors,  gold  had  already 
become  not  only  a  discovered  fact,  but  a 
part  of  the  world.  The  early  Egyptians 
got  their  gold  from  Nubia,  so  very  likely 
the  discovery  was  first  made  in  Africa.  At 
all  events,  it  dates  back  to  the  very  child 
hood  of  the  race ;  and  before  Cadmus  had 
found  those  more  important  nuggets  of  the 
alphabet,  mankind  had  achieved  the  pretti 
est  plaything  it  ever  found. 

In  the  very  first  chapter  of  the  first  and 
noblest  of  poems,  Homer  tells  of  the  priest 
who  came  with  a  golden  ransom  to  the  camp 
of  the  Greeks  before  Troy,  to  buy  his 
daughter  free;  and  the  sunny  metal  figures 


Our  Yellow  Slave.  143 

everywhere  in  the  oldest  mythology  we 
know.  You  have  all  read — and  I  hope  in 
Hawthorne's  "Tanglewood  Tales,"  where 
the  story  is  more  beautifully  told  than  it 
was  ever  elsewhere — of  Jason  and  the  Ar 
gonauts,  and  of  how  they  sailed  to  find  the 
Golden  Fleece.  That  was  a  fabulous  ram- 
skin,  whose  locks  were  of  pure  gold.  No 
wonder  the  deadly  dragon  in  the  dark 
groves  of  the  Colchian  king  guarded  it  so 
jealously.  Of  course  the  myth  is  only  a 
poetic  form — as  stories  generally  assume 
in  the  folk-lore  of  an  undeveloped  race — of 
saying  that  Jason  and  his  bold  fellow-sailors 
of  the  Argo  sailed  to  the  gold  fields  of 
Asia,  and  found  them.  The  mines  whose 
fabled  richness  tempted  them  to  that  ad 
venturous  voyage  in  their  overgrown  row- 
boat  of  fifty  oars,  were  in  the  Caucasus 
mountains,  and  produced  a  great  deal  of 
the  gold  which  was  used  by  the  ancients. 
They  were  doubtless  among  the  first  gold 
mines  in  the  world,  and  their  product  gilded 
the  splendor  of  many  of  the  first  great 
monarchs  of  history.  As  late  as  1875  an 
attempt  was  made  by  Europeans  to  work 
these  mines,  but  nothing  came  of  it. 

"Rich  as  Croesus"  has  been  for  more  than 
two  thousand  years  a  proverb  which  is  not 
yet  supplanted ;  and  that  last  king  of  Lydia 


144  Our  Yellow  Slave. 

—  and  richest  king-  of  all  time,  according-  to 
the  ancient  myths  —  got  his  wealth  from 
placer  mines  in  the  river  Pactolus,  whose 
name  has  been  as  synonymous  with  g-old 
as  Croesus's  own.  One  of  the  strang-est 
and  wisest  of  the  folk-stories  of  ancient 
Greece  tells  how  that  little  river  in  Asia 
Minor  first  g-ained  its  g-olden  sands.  Some 
seven  hundred  years  before  Christ,  there 
was  a  king-  of  Phrygia  who  had  more  gold 
than  Croesus  ever  dreamed  of  —  so  much 
g-old  that  it  made  him  the  poorest  man  in  the 
world!  It  was  King  Midas,  son  of  Gordius, 
who  earned  this  strange  distinction.  He 
had  done  a  favor  to  Dionysus,  and  the  god 
said  gratefully  :  "  Wish  one  wish,  whatever 
thou  wilt,  and  I  will  grant  it."  Now  Midas 
had  already  caught  the  most  dangerous  of 
all  "  yellow  fevers  "  —  the  fever  for  gold  — 
and  he  replied:  "Then  let  it  be  that  all 
things  which  I  shall  touch  shall  be  turned 
Into  gold." 

Dionysus  promptly  granted  this  foolish 
prayer;and  Midas  was  very  happy  for  a  little 
time.  He  picked  up  stones  from  the  ground, 
and  instantly  they  changed  to  great  lumps 
of  gold.  His  staff  was  gold,  and  his  very 
clothing  became  yellow  and  so  heavy  that 
he  could  barely  stagger  under  its  weight. 
This  was  very  fine  indeed  I  He  touched  the 


Our  Yellow  Slave.  145 

corner  of  his  palace  —  and  lol  the  whole 
building-  became  a  house  of  pure  gold. 
Splendid!  He  entered,  and  touched  what 
took  his  fancy ;  and  furniture,  and  clothing-, 
and  all,  underwent  the  same  magic  change. 
Better  and  better !  "  I  'm  the  luckiest  king- 
alive,"  chuckled  Midas,  still  looking-  about 
for  something-  new  to  transmute. 

But  even  king's  who  have  the  golden 
touch  must  sometimes  eat,  and  presently 
Midas  grew  hungry  with  so  much  wealth- 
making.  He  clapped  his  hands,  and  the 
servants  spread  the  royal  table.  A  touch 
of  the  royal  finger,  and  table  and  cloth  and 
dishes  were  yellow  gold.  This  was  some 
thing  like !  The  exhilarated  king  sat  down 
and  broke  a  piece  of  bread  —  but  as  he 
lifted  it,  it  was  strangely  heavy,  and  he  saw 
that  it,  too,  was  of  the  precious  metal!  A 
doubt  ran  through  his  foolish  head  whether 
even  the  golden  touch  might  not  have  its 
drawbacks;  but  he  was  very  hungry,  and 
did  not  wait  to  weigh  the  question.  If  his 
fingers  turned  the  bread  to  gold,  he  would 
take  something  from  a  spoon  —  and  he  lifted 
a  ladle  of  broth  to  his  mouth.  But  the  in 
stant  it  touched  his  lips,  the  broth  turned 
to  a  great  yellow  button,  which  dropped 
ringing  back  upon  the  golden  board. 


146  Our  Yellow  Slave. 

The  disquieted  king-  rose  and  walked  out 
of  the  palace.  At  the  door  he  met  his  fair- 
faced  little  daughter,  who  held  up  a  bright 
flower  to  him.  Midas  laid  his  hand  gently 
upon  her  head,  for  he  loved  the  child,  foolish 
as  he  was.  And  lo!  his  daughter  stood  mo 
tionless  before  him  —  a  pitiful  little  statue 
of  shining  gold  1 

How  much  longer  this  accursed  power 
tormented  the  miserable  monarch  the  myth 
does  not  tell  us ;  but  he  was  cured  at  last  by 
bathing  in  the  river  Pactolus,  and  the  wash 
ing  away  of  his  magic  power  filled  the  sands 
of  the  stream  with  golden  grains. 

The  Midases  are  not  dead  yet  —  for  the 
one  of  ancient  fable  there  are  thousands  to 
day,  at  whose  very  touch  all  turns  to  gold. 
Their  food  does  not  become  metal  between 
their  lips  —  but  often  it  might  as  well,  for 
all  the  joy  they  have  of  it.  And  the  little 
Phrygian  princess  was  not  the  only  child  to 
be  changed  and  hardened  forever  by  the 
"  Golden  Touch." 

Gold  figures  largely  through  all  the  quaint 
history-fables  of  the  ancients;  and  history 
itself  is  full  of  tales  hardly  less  remarkable. 
The  early  history  of  America  was  made  by 
gold  —  or  rather,  by  golden  hopes  which 
achieved  wonders  for  civilization,  but  very 
little  for  the  pockets  of  the  most  wonderful 


Our  Yellow  Slave.  147 

explorers  the  world  has  ever  seen.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  presence  of  gold  here  — 
and  the  supposed  presence  of  even  more 
than  has  yet  been  dug-—  the  western  hemis 
phere  would  be  very  much  of  a  wilderness 
still.  It  was  the  chase  of  the  golden  myths 
which  led  to  the  astounding  achievements 
that  opened  the  New  World ;  and  since  then, 
almost  to  this  day,  civilization  has  followed 
with  deliberate  march  only  in  the  hasty 
footprints  of  the  gold  seekers.  No  tale  was 
too  wild  to  find  credence  with  the  early 
adventurers. 

The  fabled  ransom  of  Montezuma  is  alls. 
fable;  but  it  is  a  fact  that  Atahualpa,  the 
head  Inca  of  Peru,  did  pay  to  that  marvel 
ous  soldier  Pizarro  a  ransom  of  golden  ves 
sels  sufficient  to  fill  a  room  twenty-two  by 
seventeen  feet  to  a  height  of  nearly  six 
feet  above  the  floor  1  While  gold  was  not 
much  in  use  in  Mexico,  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  it  employed  in  Peru  for  sacred 
utensils  and  idols  and  for  personal  orna 
ments;  and  to  this  day  the  "mummy 
miners "  are  taking  it  out  there.  The 
early  Spanish  discoveries  of  gold  in  North 
America  were  unimportant,  despite  the 
gilded  myths  which  have  surrounded  them. 
In  Columbus's  time  the  gold  fields  of  the 
known  world  were  so  "worked  out"  that 


148  Our  Yellow  Slave. 

their  product  was  barely  enough  to  meet 
the  "wear  and  tear  "  of  the  precious  metal 
in  use  ;  so  there  was  crying-  need  of  new 
finds.  But  they  came  slowly. 

By  1580  there  were  vague  rumors  of  gold 
in  what  is  now  California.  Loyola  Casallo, 
a  visiting  priest,  saw  placer  gold  there,  and 
tells  of  it  in  his  book  written  in  1690.  In 
the  last  century  Antonio  Alcedo  speaks  of 
lumps  of  California  gold,  weighing  from  five 
to  eight  pounds.  But  though  its  presence 
was  known,  and  though  the  rocky  ribs  of 
the  Golden  State  hid  far  more  millions 
than  were  dreamed  of  —  and  perhaps  than 
are  dreamed  of  yet  —  there  was  little  min 
ing,  and  that  little  with  scant  success. 

The  first  gold  discovery  in  the  American 
colonies  was  in  Cabarrus  county,  North 
Carolina,  in  1799 ;  and  up  to  1827  that  state 
was  the  only  gold-producer  in  the  Union. 
In  1824  Cabarrus  county  sent  the  first 
American  gold  to  the  mint  in  Philadelphia. 
The  Appalachian  gold  field,  which  embraces 
part  of  Virginia,  and  stretches  across  North 
Carolina,  South  Carolina  and  Georgia,  touch 
ing  also  parts  of  Tennessee  and  Alabama, 
was  once  looked  to  for  great  things ;  but  it 
long  ago  dropped  from  all  importance. 

In  1828  the  New  Placers  were  discovered 
in  New  Mexico,  some  fifty  miles  south  of 


Our  Yellow  Slave.  149 

Santa  Fe,  and  for  a  great  many  years  pro 
duced  richly.  Even  to  this  day  they  are  far 
from  unproductive.  Gold  had  been  found 
in  New  Mexico  many  generations  before, 
but  never  in  quantities  to  come  anywhere 
near  paying-.  A  decade  later,  placer  gold 
was  discovered  in  Santa  Barbara  county, 
California,  in  the  vast  rancho  of  that  gallant 
old  hidalgo  whose  home  was  described  by 
Mrs.  Jackson  as  the  home  of  "Ramona." 
These  placers  have  been  worked  steadily 
though  clumsily  by  Mexicans  ever  since; 
and  I  have  a  waxy  nugget  which  was  washed 
out  in  Piru  creek  in  1838. 

Within  half  a  century  the  world's  supply 
of  gold  had  long  been  inadequate  to  the 
growing  demand.  Russia  was  the  chief 
producer ;  and  her  mines — discovered  about 
1745 — kept  the  nations  from  a  ''famine" 
which  would  be  most  disastrous.  There 
were  old  mines  in  China,  but  little  worked; 
and  though  Japan's  gold  output  was  large, 
it  was  but  a  drop  in  the  cosmopolitan 
bucket.  Russia  at  present,  by  the  way, 
produces  an  average  of  twenty  millions  of 
gold  a  year. 

The  wonderful  gold  fields  of  Australia 
were  discovered  in  1839  by  Count  Strzelcki; 
but  the  priceless  find  was  concealed,  for  a 
curious  reason.  Australia  was  already 


150  Our  Yellow  Slave. 

England's  out-door  prison;  and.  it  was 
feared  that  if  the  golden  news  were  known 
the  45,000  desperate  convicts  there  would 
rise  in  rebellion  and  annihilate  their  keep 
ers — as  they  could  well  have  done.  So  for 
a  dozen  years  the  mighty  secret  was  jeal 
ously  guarded;  and  thousands  walked  un 
suspecting  over  the  dumb  gravel  that  held 
a  million  fortunes.  In  1848  Rev.  W.  B. 
Clark  again  stumbled  upon  the  dangerous 
secret,  but  again  the  discovery  was  sup 
pressed;  and  it  was  not  until  California 
had  set  the  whole  world  on  fire  with  excite 
ment  which  nothing  could  bottle  up,  that 
Australia  threw  off  her  politic  mask.  In 
1851  E.  H.  Hargreaves,  who  had  just  come 
from  the  new  mines  of  California,  saw  that 
Australia  was  geologically  a  gold  country  ; 
and  his  prospecting  proved  his  surmises 
correct.  The  news  spread  in  spite  of  cau 
tious  officials;  and  the  wild  epidemic  of  for 
tune  seekers  pitted  the  face  of  the  island- 
continent,  and  watered  its  thirsty  sands 
with  blood.  Even  yet,  Australia  is  produc 
ing  over  $45,000,000  gold  a  year. 

The  rich  gold  fields  of  New  Zealand  were 
first  found  in  1842,  but  were  not  extensively 
worked  until  1856,  when  the  swarming  gold 
hunters  had  overrun  the  Australian  fields, 
and  the  restless  sought  still  easier  wealth. 


Our  Yellow  Slave.  151 

As  I  have  told  you,  gold  was  mined  spas 
modically  in  California  much  more  than  two 
centuries  ago,  and  steadily  mined  for  more 
than  a  decade  before  the  "great  discovery" 
which  was  to  change  the  face  of  an  empire 
and  bring  about  what  was  in  many  ways 
the  most  remarkable  migration  in  the  whole 
history  of  the  human  race.  But  these  early 
diggings  of  the  precious  metal  made  little 
stir.  The  swarthy  miners  delved  away 
quietly,  exchanged  their  glittering  udust  " 
for  rough  food  and  other  rude  necessaries, 
and  made  no  noise.  They  were  very  much 
out  of  the  world.  The  telegraph,  the  rail 
road  and  the  printing  press  were  far  from 
touch  with  them.  There  were  a  few  "Amer 
icans  "  in  California,  and  even  one  or  two 
newspapers,  but  neither  paid  attention  to 
the  occasional  rumors  of  gold,  save  to 
ridicule  them. 

But  on  the  ninth  day  of  February,  1848, 
a  little  girl  held  in  her  unknowing  hand  the 
key  of  the  West — the  wee  yellow  seed  wrhich 
was  to  spring  into  one  of  the  most  won 
drous  plants  in  history.  On  the  American 
fork  of  the  Sacramento  river,  in  what  is 
now  El  Dorado  county,  Cal.,  stood  a  shabby 
little  mill,  owned  by  an  American  named 
Sutter.  (Californians,  by  the  way,  pro 
nounce  the  name  "Soo'-ter.")  The  mill  race 


152  Our  Yellow  Slave. 

became  broken,  and  three  men  were  hired 
to  repair  it.  Two  were  Mormons,  and  the 
third,  the  overseer,  was  named  Marshall. 
As  the  men  worked,  Marshall's  little  daugh 
ter  played  about  them — dreaming  as  little 
as  did  her  elders  that  she  was  to  upset  a 
continent. 

A  yellow  pebble  in  an  angle  of  the  sluice 
caught  her  eye,  and  picking  the  pretty  trifle 
from  the  wet  sand,  she  ran  to  her  father 
with,  "Papa!  seethe  pitty  stone."  It  was 
indeed  a  pretty  stone,  and  Marshall  at  once 
suspected  its  value.  Tests  proved  that  he 
was  right,  and  gold  was  really  found.  The 
discovery  made  some  little  noise  among  the 
few  Americans  in  that  lonely,  far  land,  but 
nothing  was  known  of  it  to  the  world  until 
Rev.  C.  S.  Lyman,  who  saw  some  of  the 
nuggets  which  further  search  yielded, 
wrote  a  letter  to  the  American  Journal  of 
Science,  in  March,  1848.  As  soon  as  the 
news  was  in  type,  it  spread  swiftly  to  the 
four  ends  of  the  earth,  and  already  by  Au 
gust  of  the  same  year  four  thousand  excited 
men  were  tearing  up  the  sands  of  the  Amer 
ican  Fork,  and  coaxing  them  to  yield  their 
golden  secrets.  And  well  they  succeeded, 
for  every  day  saw  from  $30,000  to  $50,000 
worth  of  gold  washed  out  and  transferred 
to  rude  safes  of  bottles  or  buckskin  sacks. 


Our  Yellow  Slave.  153 

How  long-  and  high  that  gold  fever  raged,' 
how  it  patted  the  fearful  intervening-  des 
ert  with  the  weary  footprints  of  tens 
of  thousands  of  modern  Jasons ;  how  it 
brought  around  the  Horn  a  thousand 
heavy  ships  for  every  one  that  sailed  be 
fore;  how  it  overturned  and  created  anew 
the  money  markets  of  the  world ;  how  it 
turned  a  vast  wilderness  into  the  g-arden  of 
the  world,  and  pulled  the  Union  a  thousand 
miles  over  to  the  West,  and  caused  the  build 
ing-  of  such  enormous  railway  lines  as  man 
kind  had  never  faintly  dreamed  of,  and  did 
a  thousand  other  wonders,  you  already 
know — for  it  has  made  literature  as  well 
as  history.  Our  national  history  is  crowded 
with  great  achievements,  but  its  chief  ro 
mance  was  — 

"The  days  of  old, 

The  days  of  gold, 

The  days  of  '49." 

California  produced  $5,000,000  gold  in 
1848,  and  crazed  the  civilized  world.  The 
output  grew  to  $60,000,000  by  1852.  To-day 
the  state  yields  between  eleven  and  twelve 
million  dollars'  worth  of  gold  a  year,  and  it 
creates  no  excitement  whatever;  for  its  peo 
ple  are  more  occupied  with  mining  the  safer 
gold  of  agriculture. 

Of  late  years  South  Africa  has  entered 
the  field  as  one  of  the  great  gold  countries. 


154  Our  Yellow  Slave. 

Its  annual  "crop"  is  over  forty  millions. 
There  is  a  possibility  that  hereafter  Alaska 
will  have  to  be  added  to  the  list.  This 
summer  of  1897  between  $3,000,000  and 
$4,000,000  in  "dust"  and  small  nuggets  came 
out  of  the  region  generally  and  loosely  called 
"The  Klondike."  I  saw  in  the  San  Fran 
cisco  mint  152,000  ounces  the  returning" 
miners  poured  out  from  their  buckskin 
bag's.  Over  3,000  people  left  California  un 
der  the  excitement  caused  by  the  exhibition 
of  these  treasures,  in  a  "gold-rush"  which 
recalled  the  old  days,  by  its  fever  and  its 
follies;  but  the  Klondike  rush  will  probably 
be  remembered,  whatever  its  results  in 
gold,  as  the  most  disastrous  in  history. 
Instead  of  the  mild  climates  of  California, 
Australia  and  South  Africa  (and  thousands 
lost  health  and  life  even  there)  the  gold 
seekers  upon  the  Klondike  will  have  to  do 
with  the  cruel  winters  and  inhospitable 
wildernesses  of  a  land  almost  under  the 
Arctic  Circle. 

Of  the  various  methods  of  liberating  our 
Yellow  Slave  from  the  hard  clutches  of  the 
earth  it  would  be  too  long  to  speak  in  detail 
here;  but  they  are  broadly  divided  into  two 
classes,  according  to  the  surroundings  of 
the  gold  itself.  Free  or  "placer"  gold  — 


Our  Yellow  Slave.  155 

which  was  for  centuries  the  first  known  to 
mankind,  and  which  was  the  sort  that 
started  the  great  "  fever  "  in  California  and 
Australia  —  is  found  in  beds  of  sand  and 
gravel,  generally  the  present  or  former  bed 
of  a  stream.  It  is  extracted  —  this  precious 
needle  from  an  enormous  and  worthless 
haystack  —  by  means  of  its  own  weight; 
water  being  applied  in  various  manners  to 
give  that  weight  a  chance  to  assert  itself. 
The  mixed  gravel  is  given  up  to  the  mer 
cies  of  running  water,  which  wets  it 
through,  and  causes  its  heaviest  parts  to 
sink  to  the  bottom,  where  they  are  held  by 
artificial  obstacles,  while  the  lighter  parti 
cles  of  sand  are  swept  away  by  the  natural 
or  artificial  current.  In  this  manner  the 
vast  mass  of  soil  is  water-sifted  until  but 
little  is  left;  and  from  that  little  it  is  easy  to 
hunt  out  the  coy  yellow  grains. 

The  placer  gold  was  not  formed  in  the 
gravel  banks  where  it  is  found,  but  came 
there  by  the  death  of  its  mother  rock.  All 
gold  began  in  "  veins  "  in  the  earth's  rocky 
ribs;  but  Time,  with  his  patient  hammers 
of  wind  and  rain  and  frost,  has  pounded 
vast  areas  of  these  rocks  to  sand ;  and  the 
gold,  broken  from  great  bands  to  lumps, 
has  drifted  with  the  bones  of  the  mountains 
into  the  later  heaps  of  gravel. 


156  Our  Yellow  Slave. 

The  processes  of  mining"  gold  which  still 
remains  in  its  original  home  in  the  rocks 
are  far  more  complicated.  There  is  a  vast 
amount  of  boring-  to  be  done  into  the  flinty 
hearts  of  the  mountains,  with  diamond- 
pointed  drills  and  with  blasting-;  and  then 
the  rock,  which  is  dotted  with  the  precious 
yellow  flakes, has  to  be  crushed  between  the 
steel  jaws  of  great  mills.  Much  of  the  g-old 
that  is  mined,  too,  is  so  chemically  chang-ed 
that  it  does  not  look  like  g-old  at  all,  and  re 
quires  special  chemical  processes  to  coax 
it  out.  In  gold  (and  silver)  mining-  mer 
cury  is  one  of  the  most  important  factors. 
It  is  the  mineral  sheriff,  and  swift  to  arrest 
any  fugitive  fleck  of  g-old  that  may  come  in 
its  way.  The  sluice  boxes  in  extensive 
placer  mines,  and  the  "sheets"  in  stamp 
mills  are  all  charged  with  quicksilver, 
which  saves  a  vast  amount  of  the  finer  gold 
dust  that  would  be  otherwise  swept  away 
by  the  current  of  water  —  for  water  is 
equally  essential  in  both  kinds  of  mining. 

There  is  no  such  thing  as  pure  gold, 
often  as  we  hear  the  phrase.  Nature's  own 
"  virgin  gold  "  is  always  alloyed  with  silver ; 
and  the  very  purest  is  but  98  or  97  per  cent 
gold.  California  gold  averages  about  the 
fineness  of  our  American  coin  —  90  per  cent 
pure.  As  a  general  rule,  the  lighter 


Our  Yellow  Slave.  157 

color  the  purer  the  gold.  The  beautiful  red 
gold  gets  its  color  from  a  large  alloy  oi 
copper. 

It  is  an  odd  fact  that  the  sea  is  full  of 
gold.  No  doubt  at  the  bottom  of  that  stu 
pendous  basin  which  has  received  for  all 
time  the  washings  of  all  the  world,  there 
is  an  incalculable  wealth  of  golden  dust ;  but 
the  strange  ocean  mine  is  not  all  so  deep 
down  as  that.  The  sea  water  itself  carries 
gold  in  solution  —  a  grain  of  gold  to  every 
ton  of  water,  as  a  famous  chemist  has 
shown. 

Among  the  historical  big  nuggets  found 
in  various  parts  of  the  world,  there  have 
been  some  wonderful  yellow  lumps.  In 
Cabarrus  county,  N.  C.,  one  was  found  in 
1810  which  weighed  thirty-seven  pounds 
Troy.  In  1842  the  gold  fields  of  Zlatoust, 
in  the  Ural,  gave  a  nugget  of  ninety-six 
pounds  Troy.  The  Victoria  (Australia) 
nugget  weighed  one  hundred  and  forty-six 
pounds  and  three  pennyweights,  of  which 
only  six  ounces  was  foreign  rock ;  and  the 
Ballarat  (Australia)  nugget  was  thirty-nine 
pounds  heavier  yet.  The  largest  nugget 
ever  found  was  also  dug  in  Australia  —  the 
"Sarah  Sands,"  named  for  a  far-off  loved 
one.  It  reached  the  astonishing  weight  of 
two  hundred  and  thirty-three  pounds  and 


158  Our  Yellow  Slave 

four  ounces  Troy!  I  wonder  what  Miner 
Sands  felt  when  he  stuck  his  pick  into  that 
fortune  in  one  lump ! 

The  quality  which  makes  gold  commer 
cially  the  most  valuable  of  the  metals  is  its 
docility.  The  cunning  ham  mer  of  the  smith 
can  "teach"  it  almost  any  thing.  The  more 
stubborn  metals  crumble  after  a  certain 
point;  but  gold  can  be  hammered  into  asheet 
so  infinitely  fine  that  282,000  of  them,  piled 
one  upon  the  other,  would  be  but  an  inch 
thick !  And  a  flake  of  gold  tiny  as  a  pin- 
head  can  be  drawn  out,  a  finer  thread  than 
ever  man  spun,  to  a  length  of  five  hundred 
feet! 

There  is  no  end  to  the  uses  of  gold. 
They  broaden  every  day.  In  some  one  of 
its  many  forms  our  Yellow  Slave  helps  us 
in  almost  every  art  and  walk  of  life.  It  has 
become  as  indispensable  as  its  red  fellow- 
slave,  fire  —  and  like  fire  can  be  as  bad  a 
master  as  it  should  be  a  good  servant. 


The  Peak  of  Gold 


The  Peak  of  Gold. 

* 

THE  most  remarkable  myths  that  ap 
pear  in  American  history  are  those 
which  were  so  eagerly  listened  to  by  the 
early  Spanish  conquerors,  who  overran 
two-thirds  of  the  two  Americas  long-  before 
the  Saxons  so  much  as  attempted  a  foot 
hold  in  the  New  World.  There  was  the 
famous  myth  of  El  Dorado  in  South  America 
—  a  living  man  covered  from  head  to  foot 
with  pure  gold  dust  and  nuggets.  In  Mex 
ico  was  the  fable  of  Montezuma's  untold 
tons  of  gold  and  bushels  of  precious  stones, 
and  many  other  impossible  things.  Ponce 
de  Leon,  the  gallant  conqueror  of  Puerto 
Rico,  paid  with  his  life  for  the  credulity 
which  led  him  to  the  first  of  our  states  ever 
entered  by  a  European,  in  quest  of  an 
alleged  fountain  of  perpetual  youth  —  a  but 
terfly  which  some  of  the  world's  learned 
doctors  are  still  chasing  under  another 
form.  And  all  across  the  arid  Southwest 
the  hot  winds  have  scattered  the  dust  of 
brave  but  too-believing  men  who  fell  in  the 
desert  through  which  they  pursued  some 


1 62  The  Peak  of  Gold. 

glittering-  shape  of  the  American  golden 
fleece.  When  Alvar  Nunez  Cabeza  de  Vaca, 
the  first  American  traveler,  walked  across 
this  continent  from  ocean  to  ocean,  over 
three  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  he  heard 
from  the  Indians  many  gilded  myths,  and 
chief  of  them  were  those  concerning  the 
famous  Seven  Cities  of  Cibola.  So  enorm 
ously  abundant  was  gold  said  to  be  in  these 
Indian  cities,  that  it  was  put  to  the  meanest 
uses.  When  Vaca  got  to  the  Spanish  settle 
ments  in  Mexico  and  told  this  wonderful 
report  it  made  a  great  commotion,  and  soon 
afterward  that  great  explorer,  Francisco 
Vasquez  de  Coronado,  came  to  the  Seven 
Cities  of  Cibola  —  which  surrounded  the 
site  of  the  present  Pueblo  Indian  town  of 
Zuni  in  the  extreme  west  of  New  Mexico. 
But  instead  of  the  dazzling  cities  he  ex 
pected,  Coronado  found  only  seven  adobe 
towns,  without  an  ounce  of  gold  (or  any 
other  metal,  for  that  matter)  —  towns  which 
were  wonderfully  curious,  but  which  sorely 
disheartened  the  brave  Spanish  pioneers.  A 
little  later  Coronado  heard  equally  astound 
ing  tales  of  a  still  more  golden  aboriginal 
city  —  the  fabulous  Gran  Quivira  —  and  set 
out  to  find  it.  After  a  marvelous  march 
which  took  him  almost  to  where  Kansas 
City  now  is,  he  found  the,  Quivira  —  but  no 


The  Peak  of  Gold.  163 

gold,  of  course.  And  it  has  been  the  same 
ever  since.  Coronado's  footsore  men  ran 
down  their  fables  in  1541.  Certainly  not  a 
decade,  and  very  likely  not  a  year,  has 
passed  since  then  in  which  some  equally 
preposterous  story  of  incalculable  treasures 
has  not  been  born  and  found  followers  in  the 
Southwest. 

I  know  of  but  one  thing-  in  the  world  more 
remarkable  than  that  the  Spaniards  should 
have  believed  such  self-evident  myths;  and 
that  one  thing-  is  that  so  many,  many  Amer 
icans  believe  them  to-day.  Not  long-  ago  I 
visited  the  most  remote  and  inaccessible 
ruins  in  the  Southwest,  and  found  there  the 
work  of  these  sanguine  dupes,  who  had 
actually  dug  through  solid  rock  in  search  of 
buried  treasure.  And  even  while  I  write  a 
party  is  digging,  a  hundred  miles  to  the 
west,  for  a  treasure  as  mythical,  and  as 
palpably  so,  as  that  at  the  end  of  the  rain 
bow.  The  stories  of  golden  mountains,  of 
buried  millions  and  of  mysterious  "lost 
mines  "  —  far  richer,  of  course,  than  those 
which  any  one  can  find  —  in  New  Mexico 
alone  would  fill  a  volume. 

I  had  once  the  good  fortune  to  run  across 
some  old  and  fragmentary  Spanish  manu 
scripts  of  the  last  century  and  the  begin 
ning  of  this,  which  are  extremely  interest- 


1 64  The  Peak  of  Gold. 

ing-.  It  is  not  often  that  we  get  so  much 
documentary  evidence  concerning-  the  gold 
en  will-o'-the-wisps  which  have  lured  so 
many  to  disappointment  and  death.  The 
writings  all  bear  the  stamp  of  implicit  be 
lief,  and  the  old  soldier,  in  particular,  who 
is  the  hero  of  the  fragmentary  story,  is  of 
ten  unconsciously  eloquent  and  sometimes 
pathetic  in  his  recital.  I  translate  all  the 
documents  literally. 

The  first  manuscript  is  a  certified  copy 
(certified  in  the  City  of  Mexico,  March  5, 
1803),  of  the  "  relation  "  and  petition  of  Ber 
nardo  de  Castro,  a  copy  for  which  the  Span 
ish  governor  of  New  Mexico  had  sent. 
Bernardo's  story  and  appeal  are  as  follows, 
rendering  as  closely  as  possible  the  quaint 
language  of  the  day : 

"Most  Excellent  Sir:  Bernardo  de  Cas 
tro,  retired  sergeant  of  the  company  of  San 
Carlos  [St.  Charles]  of  the  government  of 
the  City  of  Chihuahua,  in  the  Provinces  of 
the  Interior,  admitted  to  citizenship  in  the 
City  of  Santa  Fe,  capital  of  the  kingdom  of 
New  Mexico,  and  resident  of  this  capital, 
goes  on  and  before  Your  Excellency  says: 
That  having  served  our  Royal  Monarch  for 
the  space  of  nine  years  and  eight  months  as 
sergeant  of  the  said  company  in  the  count 
less  combats  at  which  I  assisted  against  the 


The  Peak  of  Gold.  165 

nations  of  the  ynfidels  [Indians],  I  came  out 
with  a  lance-thrust  in  one  leg,  of  the  which 
it  resulted  that  I  was  placed  in  the  Ynvalid 
corps  by  the  Sir  Commander  Don  Juan  de 
Ugalde.  But  considering1  that  with  time 
and  medicines  I  recovered  and  gained 
strength  to  seek  my  subsistence  free  from 
the  hardships  to  which  the  frontier  troop 
is  exposed  from  the  Mecos  [probably  the 
Apaches],  I  gave  up  for  the  benefit  of  the 
royal  exchequer  my  pay  as  invalid  sergeant, 
and  have  followed  working  in  the  same 
kingdom  of  New  Mexico.  There  I  have 
suffered  various  fights  —  as  it  befell  in  the 
past  year  of  1798,  that  while  I  was  conduct 
ing  a  multitude  of  large  cattle  and  other 
eifects,  the  whole  valued  at  more  than 
$14,000,  from  New  Mexico  to  El  Paso  del 
Norte,  the  barbarous  Mecos  assailed  me, 
and  after  a  long  battle,  in  which  flowed 
much  human  blood,  they  carried  off  all  I 
had  in  the  world.  And  we  gave  to  God 
thanks  for  having  saved  us  even  the  life. 

"  This  continual  contact  with  the  savages 
has  contracted  me  a  friendship  with  the 
Cumanche  nation,  which  is  at  peace  with 
the  Spaniards,  and  understanding  their 
idiom  facilitates  me  in  trading  with  them  to 
gain  my  livelihood. 


1 66  The  Peak  of  Gold. 

"In  the  past  year,  1798, 1  arrived  in  Santa 
Fe  and  presented  myself  to  the  Sir  Gov 
ernor  Don  Fernando  Chacon.  His  Lord 
ship  informed  me  that  there  had  come  a 
Frenchman  and  had  shown  him  a  piece  of 
metal  of  fine  gold,  assuring-  him  he  kne\v 
the  spot  where  it  was  produced,  and  that  it 
was  a  peak  which  the  ynfidel  nations  called 
Peak  of  the  Gold,  where  there  was  such  an 
abundant  breeding-place  of  this  precious 
metal  that  all  the  peak  and  even  its  sur 
roundings  could  with  propriety  be  said  to 
be  pure  gold.  That  he  offered  to  show  the 
spot  if  his  Lordship  would  guard  him  with 
three  hundred  men  of  troops,  and  this  he 
was  bound  to  grant  for  the  benefit  of  our 
monarch.  That  the  distance,  he  consid 
ered,  would  be  a  matter  of  eight  or  nine 
days'  journey.  The  faithful  love  to  our 
Sovereign  animated  the  Sir  Governor,  and 
he  supplied  the  escort  which  had  marched 
two  days  before,  and  his  said  Lordship  in 
formed  me  that  if  he  had  found  me  in  the 
city  he  would  have  made  me  one  of  the  com 
manders.  This  offer  inspired  me,  and  I 
offered  to  follow  after  the  expedition,  and 
the  love  with  which  I  have  always  served 
my  lord,  the  King,  enabled  me  by  the  ut 
most  exertion  to  overtake  the  expedition, 


The  Peak  of  Gold.  167 

with  which  I  incorporated  myself  on  the 
third  day. 

"And  journeying  on  our  course,  on  the 
ninth  day  the  French  guide  slipped  away 
from  us,  leaving  us  in  the  plains  without 
knowledge  of  the  road  to  our  desired  peak. 
At  the  which  it  was  resolved  by  the  leaders 
of  the  expedition  to  return  to  Santa  Fe. 
But  I,  not  suffering  from  the  short  march, 
separated  from  the  expedition  and  went  on 
alone  to  verify  the  report.  And  in  the 
rancherias  [villages]  of  the  Cumanches, 
where  I  was  entertained,  when  I  told  them 
the  trick  and  the  mockery  that  the  French 
man  had  put  upon  us,  they  assured  me  with 
one  accord  that  the  said  Frenchman  did  not 
know  the  location  of  the  peak  at  all,  and 
that  he  had  never  been  there,  for  the  gold 
which  he  took  to  New  Mexico  they  them 
selves  had  given  him  in  exchange  for  vari 
ous  trinkets  of  coral,  belts  and  other  tri 
fles.  But  that  they  knew  the  peak  of  gold, 
that  was  indeed  with  an  abundance  never 
seen  before,  and  if  I  would  go  with  them 
they  would  show  me  it,  and  I  could  pick  up 
all  I  wished,  and  if  we  met  any  other  nation 
[of  Indians]  I  should  not  be  harmed  if  with 
them,  for  they  were  all  friends. 

"Indeed,  most  illustrious  Sir,  only  by  my 
fidelity  and  obedience  to  my  superior  could 


1 68  The  Peak  of  Gold. 

I  contain  myself  not  to  march  to  the  peak 
without  delay;  and  I  told  my  friends  the 
Mecos  Cumanches,  that  I  was  going  to  seek 
permission  of  that  Sir  Governor  of  the  New 
Mexico,  and  with  it  would  return.  I  ar 
rived  in  Santa  Fe  and  sought  that  permis 
sion,  but  it  was  denied  me.  But  continuing 
my  visits  to  the  Mequeria  [I  find  that]  so 
strong  a  desire  have  they  formed  for  the 
granting  of  that  permission  and  the  devel 
opment  of  this  treasure,  and  the  facility 
there  is  that  the  Spaniards  enjoy  it  and  that 
their  Sovereign  make  heavy  his  royal  cof 
fers,  that  I  resolved  to  make  a  walk  of  more 
than  seven  hundred  leagues  to  seek  the  aid 
and  encouragement  of  Your  Excellency. 
[The  brave  sergeant  so  fully  believed  in  his 
Peak  of  Gold  that  he  actually  walked  nearly 
2, 200  miles  alone  through  a  most  dangerous 
country  to-  lay  the  matter  before  the  Vice 
roy  in  Mexico.] 

"My  plan  being  approved,  it  is  unde 
niable  that  the  Royal  treasury  will  be 
swelled  by  the  tithes  and  dues  to  the  Royal 
crown;  new  interest  will  animate  men  to 
follow  up  the  discovery,  and  there  will  be 
civilized  (with  time  and  the  friendship 
which  is  contracted  with  the  nations  of  the 
Cumanches,  Yutas  and  Navajosos)  more 
than  three  hundred  leagues  of  virgin  and 


The  Peak  of  Gold.  169 

powerful  lands  —  that  being-  reckoned  the 
distance  from  the  city  of  Santa  Fe  to  the 
Peak  of  Gold.  The  inhabitants  of  the  in 
ternal  provinces,  who  now  live  under  the 
yoke  of  the  assaults  of  the  hostile  Indians, 
will  revive;  it  will  be  easier  for  the  Sov 
ereign  to  guard  the  frontiers  of  these  his 
vast  dominions.  Settlements  will  be  made, 
and  insensibly  will  follow  the  conquest  and 
pacification  of  the  ynfidels,  who  will  easily 
embrace  the  holy  Gospel  and  come  under 
the  faith  of  Jesus  Christ.  What  results  to 
religion,  to  the  monarch  and  to  his  vassals 
are  presented,  even  by  this  clumsy  narra 
tion  ! 

"I  do  not  intend  to  burden  the  Royal 
treasury  with  the  slightest  expense,  nor  do 
I  think  to  involve  the  Royal  arms  in  actions 
which  might  imperil  the  troops.  My  per 
son  is  declared  past  its  usefulness  for  the 
Royal  service,  and  I  count  myself  as  a  dead 
man  for  entering  matters  of  importance. 
But  my  military  spirit  does  not  falter,  and  I 
only  desire  to  manifest,  even  at  the  foot  of 
the  tomb,  my  love  to  my  Sovereign.  With 
only  one  faithful  companion  I  intend  to  go 
among  my  friends,  the  Cumanches,  and, 
with  the  protection  and  guidance  of  them, 
to  enter  and  explore  the  land,  silently,  with 
out  noise  or  preparation,  to  force  a  passage. 


170  The  Peak  of  Gold. 

Quietness,  the  gray  shadows  of  the  night 
and  our  own  courage  are  the  only  prepara 
tions  I  make  for  the  difficult  undertaking, 
and,  above  all,  the  divine  aid.  Having 
found  the  desired  Peak  of  Gold,  charted 
the  roads  to  it,  made  the  due  surveys,  and 
gathered  so  much  of  the  precious  metal  as 
we  can  transport  without  making  danger 
(and  under  the  divine  favor),  I  will  present 
myself  again  to  Your  Excellency,  and  by 
your  Superiority  will  be  taken  such  steps  as 
the  state  of  the  case  demands. 

"Under  which  considerations,  and  the 
solid  arguments  which  I  have  expressed,  of 
which  Your  Excellency  can  receive  full  con 
firmation  from  the  most  excellent  Senor 
Don  Pedro  de  Nava,  commander-in-chief  of 
the  interior  provinces,  and  Don  Joseph 
Casiano  Feaomil  y  Garay,  lieutenant-captain 
of  dragoons  of  San  Luis  Potosi,  I  humbly 
beg  of  Your  Excellency  that  in  use  of  your 
Viceroyal  powers,  you  deign  to  grant  me 
your  superior  permission  to  go  in  search  of 
the  Peak  of  Gold ;  being  kind  enough  to  send 
to  the  Senor  Don  Fernando  Chacon,  actual 
Governor  of  the  New  Mexico,  that  he  put 
no  difficulty  in  my  path,  and  giving  orders 
to  the  captains  and  chiefs  of  the  friendly 
nations — Cumanches,  Yutas  and  Navajosos 


The  Peak  of  Gold.  171 

—  that  they  accompany  and  guide  me  in  this 
expedition. 

"And  I  respectfully  say  that  my  delay  in 
getting  to  this  Capital  [the  City  of  Mexico] 
was  because  I  had  to  come  nearly  all  the 
way  on  foot,  my  horse  having-  given  out  in 
that  great  distance,  and  that  now  I  am  sup 
ported  here  by  alms,  such  is  my  great  anx 
iety  for  the  benefit  of  the  monarch,  and 
beg-  that  I  be  excused  for  this  paper.  [He 
was  too  poor  to  buy  the  stamped  and  taxed 
paper  on  which  petitions  to  the  Viceroy 
must  be  addressed.] 

"  For  so  much  I  pray  Your  Excellency's 
favor.  BERNARDO  CASTRO." 

He  had  the  real  spirit  of  the  Argonauts, 
this  crippled  old  soldier,  to  whom  poverty 
and  danger  and  2,000-mile  walks  were  trifles 
when  they  stood  between  him  and  his  Peak 
of  Gold. 

The  Viceroy  evidently  gave  the  desired 
permission  —  without  which,  under  the 
strict  Spanish  laws,  no  such  venture  was  to 
be  thought  of — and  there  were  one  or  more 
expeditions,  but  unfortunately  we  have  left 
no  account  of  them.  It  is  clear  that  the 
Viceroy  ordered  Governor  Chacon,  of  New 
Mexico,  to  assist  Castro  in  his  undertaking, 
and  that  the  matter  aroused  a  good  deal  of 
interest  throughout  the  provinces  of  New 


172  The  Peak  of  Gold 

Spain.  Don  Nemecio  Salcedo,  military  com 
mandant  at  Chihuahua,  seems  to  have  inter 
ested  himself  in  the  matter,  for  the  next 
document  in  this  fragmentary  series  is  a 
draft  of  a  reply  to  him  from  Governor 
Chacon,  as  follows: 

"  According-  to  that  which  Your  Lordship 
advises  me  in  communication  of  the  16th 
of  September  of  the  current  year,  I  repeat 
that  as  to  the  expedition  of  Bernardo  Castro 
to  the  discovery  of  the  Peak  of  Gold,  I  will 
help  him  and  the  others  who  accompany 
him,  that  they  may  have  no  difficulty  with 
the  General  of  the  Cumanches,  whom,  how 
ever,  I  have  not  yet  seen,  since  he  has  not 
yet  returned  with  the  ransom  he  offered  me 
when  he  was  last  in  this  capital. 

"God,  etc.    Santa  Fee,  25th  of  Fber,  1803. 

"  To  Senor  Don  Nemo.  Salcedo.'* 

There  was  other  correspondence  be 
tween  these  two  on  the  same  matter,  for 
now  we  come  to  an  original  letter  from 
Commandant  Salcedo  to  Governor  Chacon, 
replying-  to  a  late  one  of  his.  It  says : 

"  The  communication  of  Your  Lordship, 
No.  36,  of  the  18th  of  last  November,  leaves 
me  informed  of  all  the  assistances  you  gave 
Bernardo  Castro,  that  he  might  undertake 
the  second  journey  [so  he  had  already  made 
one]  from  that  city,  with  the  object  to  dis- 


The  Peak  of  Gold.  173 

cover  the  Peak  of  Gold,  which  he  has  de 
scribed  in  the  territory  of  that  province. 
And  of  the  results  I  hope  Your  Lordship 
will  give  me  account. 

"  God  guard  Your  Lordship  many  years. 

"  CHIHUAHUA,  January  5,  1804. 

"NEMECIO  SALCEDO. 

"  To  the  Sir  Governor  of  New  Mexico.' 

Poor  brave,  misguided  Bernardo  de  Cas 
tro!  I  wish  we  might  have  more  of  the 
documents  about  his  venturesome  wander 
ings  in  quest  of  the  Peak  of  Gold.  He 
must  have  gone  far  out  into  the  wastes  of 
Texas;  and  at  last  he,  too,  yielded  up  his 
life,  as  did  countless  of  his  countrymen 
before  him,  to  that  deadliest  of  yellow  fe 
vers.  We  lose  all  track  of  him  until  Gov 
ernor  Chaves  writes  from  Santa  Fe,  in 
1829,  to  his  superior  in  the  City  of  Mex 
ico,  who  had  written  to  ask  him  about  these 
and  other  matters.  His  letter  says : 

"Most  Excellent  Sir:  In  compliance  with 
that  which  Your  Excellency  requests  in 
your  official  letter  of  the  19th  of  August 
last,  that  I  make  the  necessary  verifications 
upon  the  mineral  reported  by  the  Rev. 
Father  Custodian  of  these  missions,  Fray 
Sevastian  Alvares,  to  be  found  among  the 
gentile  Comanches,  I  have  investigated  the 
matter,  and  place  in  the  knowledge  of  Your 


174  The  Peak  of  Gold. 

Excellency  that  which  various  of  the  citi 
zens  of  this  capital — and  all  of  them  most 
veracious — say.  They  all  agree  in  that  it 
is  a  fact  that  Don  Bernardo  de  Castro  [the 
old  soldier  had  evidently  won  honorable  rec 
ognition,  else  a  Governor  of  New  Mexico 
would  not  speak  of  him  by  the  respectful 
title  of  "Don"]  entered  this  territory  with 
the  object  of  seeking  the  said  mineral ;  that 
he  made  various  expeditions  with  this  ob 
ject,  until  in  one  of  them  he  was  slain  by 
the  heathen  Apaches. 

"Passing  to  information  received  from 
the  travelers  to  that  nation,  all  agree  in  the 
statement  that  the  Comanches  offer  to  sell 
them  pouches  filled  with  a  metal  which  ap 
pears  fine  and  of  great  weight,  which  they 
say  they  get  from  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Ash  peaks  (which  are  very  well  known  to 
our  people,  but  not  explored  or  charted, 
because  they  are  distant  from  the  trails). 

"  The  citizen  Pablo  Martin  has  been  he 
who  expressed  himself  most  fully.  He, 
knowing  that  the  said  Don  Bernardo  de 
Castro  sought  a  mineral  in  the  Comanche 
nation,  has  procured  them  to  look  for  the 
said  mineral.  The  only  result  was  that 
one  Comanche  named  Pano  de  Lienso 
['Cloth  of  Linen'],  who  made  himself  his 
companion,  gave  him  information  that  be- 


The  Peak  of  Gold.  175 

yond  the  Ash  peaks,  in  some  round  hills, 
were  stones  with  much  silver,  whereof  the 
said  Comanche  had  carried  some  to  the 
province  of  San  Antonio  de  Bejar  [Texas], 
where  they  made  buttons  for  him.  He  who 
made  the  buttons  charged  the  Comanche  to 
bring1  him  a  load  [of  that  me-tal],  but  he  did 
not  do  so,  because  in  that  time  came  the 
war  of  his  people  with  that  province.  Other 
Comanches  also  have  told  him  [Pablo  Mar 
tin]  that  in  said  spot  were  stones  with 
silver. 

"This  is  all  I  have  been  able  to  find  out 
as  the  results  of  my  investigations,  the 
which  I  place  in  the  knowledge  of  Your  Ex 
cellency,  that  you  may  put  it  to  the  use 
which  you  deem  best. 

"  SANTA  FEE,  30  of  8ber  of  1829. 

"CHAVES." 

And  there,  so  far  as  we  know  it  now,  is 
the  story  of  the  Peak  of  Gold. 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt 


IN    TA-BI-RA 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 


A   PUEBLO    FAIRY   TALE   TOLD    OVER. 

THE  yellow  cottonwoods  above  the  Rio 
Grande  shivered  in  the  fresh  Octo 
ber  morning-  as  the  sun  peeped  over  the 
Eagle  Feather  mountain  into  the  valley  of 
his  peoplec  Above  the  flat,  gray  pueblo  of 
Shee-eh-huib-bak  the  bluish  breath  of  five 
hundred  slender  chimneys  melted  skyward 
in  tall  spirals.  Upon  here  and  there  a  level 
housetop  a  blanket-swathed  figure  stared 
solemnly  at  the  great,  round,  blinding 
house  of  T'hoor-id-deh,  the  Sun  Father. 

Then  a  burro,  heavy  eared  and  slow  of 
pace,  rattled  the  gravel  on  the  high  bluff, 
gazed  mournfully  on  the  muddy  eddies,  and 
broke  out  in  stentorian  brays.  Apparently 
Flo  jo*  felt  downcast.  Across  these  treach 
erous  quicksands  the  grass  was  still  tall  in 
the  vega  —  why  did  not  Pablo  take  him  over 
too?  And  mustering  up  his  ears,  he  trotted 
almost  briskly  down  the  slope  to  the  water's 
edge,  where  a  swart  young  Apollo  was  just 
stepping  into  the  swift  current.  Tall, 
sinewy,  lithe  as  Keem-ee-deh,  the  mountain 


i8o  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

lion  that  lent  its  tawny  hide  for  the  bow- 
case  in  his  hand ;  his  six  feet  of  glowing 
bronze  broken  only  by  a  modest  clout  of 
white  at  the  supple  waist,  his  dense  black 
hair  falling-  straight  upon  broad,  bare 
shoulders,  and  his  dark  eyes  watchful  of 
the  swirling-  waters,  the  young-  Pueblo 
strode  sturdily  in,  paying-  no  heed  to  the 
forlorn  watcher  upon  the  shore.  In  a  mo 
ment  he  was  in  the  channel  swimming- 
easily,  one  hand  holding-  the  bow-case  above 
the  red  bundle  upon  his  jet  crown.  Sush- 
shl  stish-sh!  splosh!  splash!  splash!  and 
Flojo  heaved  a  great  sig-h  as  his  master 
went  spattering-  across  the  farther  shoals, 
and  at  last  climbed  the  sandy  eastern 
bank. 

Pablo  unrolled  the  bundle  from  his  head, 
wriggled,  wet-skinned,  into  the  red  print 
shirt  and  snowy  calzoncillos,  wrapped  their 
flapping-  folds  about  his  calf  with  the  buck 
skin  leg-g-ing-s  of  rich  maroon ;  belted  these 
at  either  knee  with  a  wee,  g-ay  sash  from 
the  looms  of  Moqui,  fastened  the  moccasins 
with  their  silver  buttons,  and,  with  the 
tawny  sheath  of  bow  and  arrows  slung 
across  his  back,  started  at  a  swift  walk. 
Once  only  he  stopped,  after  a  scramble  up 
the  gravel  hills  that  scalloped  the  plateau, 
to  look  back  a  moment.  The  long  ribbon 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  181 

of  the  valley,  now  faded  from  its  summer 
green,  banded  the  bare  brown  world  from 
north  to  south,  threaded  with  the  errant 
silver  of  the  river,  whose  farthest  shimmer 
flashed  back  from  under  the  purple  mass  of 
the  Mountain  of  the  Thieves.  Midway  lay 
the  pueblo,  dozing-  amid  its  orchards  below 
the  black  cone  of  the  Ku-mai,  and  Pablo 
shook  his  head  sadly,  as  he  turned  ag-ain 
and  strode  across  the  broad,  hig-h  llano. 

"It  is  not  well  in  the  village,"  he  mut 
tered,  "  for  it  is  full  of  them  that  have  the 
evil  road.  The  Cum-pah-huit-lah-wen  have 
told  me  that  the  half  of  those  of  Shee-eh- 
huib-bak  are  witches;  but  not  all  can  be 
punished.  But  it  is  in  ill  times  for  us. 
Tio  Lorenzo  is  twisted  by  the  Bads  so  that 
he  cannot  walk ;  and  many  die ;  and  did  not 
Amparo  and  Jose  Dieg-o  marry  the  prettiest 
maidens  of  the  Tee-wahn,  only  to  find  them 
witches?  How  shall  one  take  a  wife  when 
so  many  are  accursed?  It  is  better  to  hunt 
and  forg-et  the  women,  as  do  the  warriors; 
for  we  know  not  who  are  True  Believers, 
and  who  have  to  do  with  the  g-hosts." 

Across  the  wide,  sandy  plateau  the  young- 
Indian  walked  with  undiminished  pace ;  and 
as  the  house  of  the  Sun  Father  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  sky,  he  entered  a  rocky  canon 
of  the  Eagle  Feather  mountain  and  beg-an 


1 82  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

to  climb  a  spur  of  the  great  peak.  The 
huddled  dry  leaves  under  a  live  oak  caught 
his  eye,  and  he  turned  them  with  deft  foot. 
"Here  Pee-id-deh,  the  deer,  slept  last 
night,"  he  exclaimed,  "  for  the  fresh  earth 
clings  to  their  under  side.  And  here  is  a 
hair,  and  here  the  footmark.  If  only  Keem- 
ee-deh  will  help  me." 

Kneeling-  by  the  tree,  he  broke  off  a  twig 
and  stuck  it  in  the  earth  in  front  of  the  foot 
print,  the  fork  pointing-  backward,  that 
Pee-id-deh  might  trip  and  fall  as  it  ran. 
Then,  drawing  the  Left-Hand  Pouch  from 
his  side,  he  opened  it  and  reverently  took 
out  a  tiny  parcel  in  buckskin,  whose  folds 
soon  disclosed  a  little  image  of  the  Mount 
ain  Lion,  chief  of  hunters,  carved  from 
adamantine  quartz.  Its  eyes  were  of  the 
sacred  turquoise;  and  in  the  center  of  the 
belly  was  inlaid  a  turquoise  heart  over  the 
hollow  which  held  a  pinch  of  the  holy  corn 
meal.  On  the  right  side  was  lashed  a  tiny 
arrow-head  of  moss  agate — one  of  the  pre 
cious  "thunder  knives"  which  the  Horned 
Toad  had  made  and  had  left  for  Pablo  on 
the  plains  of  the  Hollow  Peak  of  Winds. 
Putting  the  fetich  to  his  mouth  and  inhal 
ing  from  the  stone  lips,  the  hunter  prayed 
aloud  to  Keem-ee-deh  to  give  him  true  eyes 
and  ears,  and  swift  feet  to  overtake;  and 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  183 

rising-,  gave  a  low,  far  roar  to  terrify  the 
heart  and  loosen  the  knees  of  his  prey. 
Then,  restoring-  the  imag-e  to  its  pouch,  with 
bow  in  hand  and  three  arrows  held  ready, 
he  pushed  rapidly  up  hill,  with  keen  eyes  to 
the  dim  trail.  Here  a  trampled  grass  blade, 
there  a  cut  leaf  or  overturned  pebble,  and 
again  a  faint  scratch  on  the  rocks,  led  him 
on.  At  last,  just  where  the  flat  top  of  the 
mountain  had  been  wrought  to  a  vast  arrow- 
point  by.  the  Giant  of  the  Caves,  he  saw  a 
sleek  doe  standing  under  a  shabby  aspen. 
Down  on  his  belly  went  Pablo,  and  with  a 
new  breath-taking  from  the  stone  lips  of  the 
prey-god,  crawled  snake-like  forward.  The 
deer  moved  not,  and  within  fifty  yards  Pa 
blo  tugged  an  arrow  to  its  agate  head  and 
drove  it  whirring  through  Pee-id-deh's 
heart.  The  doe  turned  her  great,  soft  eyes 
toward  him,  sniffed  the  air  and  went  bound 
ing  up  the  rocky  ledges  as  if  unhurt.  Yet 
on  the  left  side  the  grey  feathers  of  the 
shaft  touched  the  skin;  and  once  on  the 
right  Pablo  caught  the  sparkle  of  the  gem 

tip. 

There  was  a  curious  ashen  tint  in  the 
bronze  of  his  cheeks,  as  the  hunter  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  began  running  in  pursuit. 
"  Truly,  that  was  to  the  life,"  he  whispered 
to  himself.  "And  why  does  she  not  fall? 


1 82  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

to  climb  a  spur  of  the  great  peak.  The 
huddled  dry  leaves  under  a  live  oak  caught 
his  eye,  and  he  turned  them  with  deft  foot. 
"Here  Pee-id-deh,  the  deer,  slept  last 
night,"  he  exclaimed,  "  for  the  fresh  earth 
clings  to  their  under  side.  And  here  is  a 
hair,  and  here  the  footmark.  If  only  Keem- 
ee-deh  will  help  me." 

Kneeling  by  the  tree,  he  broke  off  a  twig 
and  stuck  it  in  the  earth  in  front  of  the  foot 
print,  the  fork  pointing  backward,  that 
Pee-id-deh  might  trip  and  fall  as  it  ran. 
Then,  drawing  the  Left-Hand  Pouch  from 
his  side,  he  opened  it  and  reverently  took 
out  a  tiny  parcel  in  buckskin,  whose  folds 
soon  disclosed  a  little  image  of  the  Mount 
ain  Lion,  chief  of  hunters,  carved  from 
adamantine  quartz.  Its  eyes  were  of  the 
sacred  turquoise;  and  in  the  center  of  the 
belly  was  inlaid  a  turquoise  heart  over  the 
hollow  which  held  a  pinch  of  the  holy  corn 
meal.  On  the  right  side  was  lashed  a  tiny 
arrow-head  of  moss  agate — one  of  the  pre 
cious  "thunder  knives"  which  the  Horned 
Toad  had  made  and  had  left  for  Pablo  on 
the  plains  of  the  Hollow  Peak  of  Winds. 
Putting  the  fetich  to  his  mouth  and  inhal 
ing  from  the  stone  lips,  the  hunter  prayed 
aloud  to  Keem-ee-deh  to  give  him  true  eyes 
and  ears,  and  swift  feet  to  overtake;  and 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  183 

rising-,  gave  a  low,  far  roar  to  terrify  the 
heart  and  loosen  the  knees  of  his  prey. 
Then,  restoring-  the  imag-e  to  its  pouch,  with 
bow  in  hand  and  three  arrows  held  ready, 
he  pushed  rapidly  up  hill,  with  keen  eyes  to 
the  dim  trail.  Here  a  trampled  grass  blade, 
there  a  cut  leaf  or  overturned  pebble,  and 
ag-ain  a  faint  scratch  on  the  rocks,  led  him 
on.  At  last,  just  where  the  flat  top  of  the 
mountain  had  been  wroug-ht  to  a  vast  arrow- 
point  by  the  Giant  of  the  Caves,  he  saw  a 
sleek  doe  standing-  under  a  shabby  aspen. 
Down  on  his  belly  went  Pablo,  and  with  a 
new  breath-taking-  from  the  stone  lips  of  the 
prey-g-od,  crawled  snake-like  forward.  The 
deer  moved  not,  and  within  fifty  yards  Pa 
blo  tug-g-ed  an  arrow  to  its  ag-ate  head  and 
drove  it  whirring-  throug-h  Pee-id-deh's 
heart.  The  doe  turned  her  great,  soft  eyes 
toward  him,  sniffed  the  air  and  went  bound 
ing-  up  the  rocky  ledg-es  as  if  unhurt.  Yet 
on  the  left  side  the  grey  feathers  of  the 
shaft  touched  the  skin;  and  once  on  the 
rig-ht  Pablo  caug-ht  the  sparkle  of  the  g-em 

tip. 

There  was  a  curious  ashen  tint  in  the 
bronze  of  his  cheeks,  as  the  hunter  sprang- 
to  his  feet  and  beg-an  running-  in  pursuit. 
"  Truly,  that  was  to  the  life,"  he  whispered 
to  himself.  "And  why  does  she  not  fall? 


184  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

Will  it  be  that  they  of  the  evil  road  have 
given  me  the  eye?  "  And  stopping-  short,  he 
fished  out  a  bit  of  corn  husk  and  a  pinch  of 
the  sweet pee-dn-hleh  and  rolled  a  cigarette, 
lighting-  it  from  his  flint  and  steel.  The 
first  puff  he  blew  slowly  to  the  east,  and 
then  one  to  the  north,  and  one  to  the  west, 
and  one  south,  one  overhead,  and  one  down 
ward,  all  about,  that  the  evil  spirits  of  the 
Six  Ways  might  be  blinded  and  not  see  his 
tracks.  When  the  sacred  iveer  was  smoked, 
he  rose  and  took  up  the  trail  again.  It  was 
easy  to  be  followed,  now,  in  the  soft  wood 
soil  of  the  mountain  top;  and  in  the  very 
edge  of  the  farther  grove  of  aspens  he  saw 
the  doe  again,  grazing  in  unconcern.  Worm 
ing  from  tree  to  tree,  Pablo  came  close,  and 
again  sent  a  stone-tipped  shaft.  It  struck 
by  the  very  side  of  the  first,  and  drank  as 
deep;  but  the  doe,  pricking  up  her  ears  as 
if  she  had  but  heard  the  whizz  of  the  arrow, 
trotted  easily  away  and  disappeared  over 
the  eastern  brow  of  the  mountain,  amid  the 
somber  pines. 

Pablo  was  very  pale  now,  but  not  yet 
daunted.  He  smoked  again  to  the  Six  Ways 
and  prayed  to  all  the  Trues  to  help  him, 
and  with  another  arrow  on  the  string, 
pushed  forward. 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  185 

Where  the  tall  pines  dwindled  to  scrubby 
cedars  he  came  again  to  his  quarry.  But 
now  the  doe  was  more  alert  and  would  not 
let  him  within  bowshot.  Only  she  looked 
back  at  him  with  big,  sad  eyes  and  trotted 
just  away  from  range.  And  soon  Night 
rolled  down  the  mountain  from  behind  him 
and  filled  the  whispering  forest  and  drowned 
the  great,  still  plains  beyond,  and  he  lost 
her  altogether. 

"This  is  no  deer,"  said  Pablo,  gloomily, 
as  he  stretched  himself  under  a  twisted 
savino  for  the  night,  "  but  one  who  has  ivahr, 
the  Power.  And  her  eyes,  how  they  are  as 
those  of  women  sorrowing,  large  and  wet! 
But  I  will  see  the  end,  even  though  I  die." 
And  weary  with  the  rugged  forty  miles  of 
the  day,  he  was  soon  asleep. 

As  the  blue  flower  of  dawn  bloomed  from 
the  eastern  gray,  Pablo  rose,  and*  smoked 
again  the  sacred  smoke  and  inhaled  the 
strengthful  breath  of  Keem-ee-deh,  and 
started  anew  on  his  awesome  hunt.  Soon 
he  found  the  trail  marked  with  dark 
blotches,  and  all  day  long  he  followed  it. 
Just  as  the  sun-house  stood  on  the  dark 
western  ridges  he  came  to  the  foot  of  a  high 
swell,  on  whose  summit  gleamed  the  gray 
of  strange,  giant  walls. 


1 86  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

"It  will  be  the  bones  of  Ta-bi-ra,"  thought 
Pablo  aloud,  "for  my  father  often  told  me 
of  the  great  city  of  the  Pi-ro  that  was  be 
yond  Cuaray  in  the  First  Times,  before  the 
lakes  of  the  plain  were  accursed  to  be  salt, 
before  Those-of-the-Old  came  to  dwell  on 
the  river  that  runs  from  the  Dark  Lake  of 
Tears.  But  how  shall  a  deer  come  thus 
into  the  plains,  which  are  only  of  the  prong- 
horns?*  Yet  I  have  walked  in  her  road  all 
day,  and  here  are  her  marks,  going  " — and 
he  stopped,  for  his  sharp  ear  caught  a  faint, 
far-off  chant.  It  seemed  to  come  from  the 
ruins  that  crowned  the  hill;  and,  dropping 
to  the  earth,  Pablo  began  to  crawl  from 
cedar  to  cedar,  from  rock  to  rock  toward  it. 
At  the  very  crest  of  the  rounded  ridge  was 
a  long  line  of  jumbled  stone — the  mound  of 
fallen  fortress  houses — and  beyond,  from 
the  gathering  dusk,  loomed  the  ragged, 
lofty  walls  of  a  vast  temple.  Under  the 
shadows  of  the  mound  he  crawled  far 
around  to  the  rear  end  of  the  gray  wall,  and 
then  along  the  wall  itself  toward  the  huge 
buttresses  that  proclaimed  its  front.  The 
chant  was  close  at  hand  now — the  singer 
was  evidently  within  the  ruined  temple. 
But  the  tongue  Pablo  did  not  know.  It  was 
not  so  musical  as  his  soft  Tee-wahn,  nor 

*  Antelopes. 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  187 

was  it  like  the  guttural  of  the  Queres — for 
that  he  knew  also — and  yet  it  was  some 
voice  of  the  Children  of  the  Sun,  and  not  the 
outlandish  babble  of  the  Americanoodeh, 
nor  of  the  Spanish  Wet-Head.  It  was  not, 
then,  some  new  tonto  come  to  dig-  for  the 
fabled  gold  of  Ta-bi-ra  —  whose  shafts 
yawned  black  in  the  gray  bedrock  and  here 
and  there  through  the  very  base  of  the 
great  wall  —  but  some  Indian,  and  probably 
a  medicine  man,  for  the  song  was  not  as 
those  of  the  careless.  Pablo  crouched  in 
the  darkness  against  the  eastern  end  of  the 
wall,  listening,  forgetful  of  the  bewitched 
deer  and  of  all  else.  Once  in  a  wild  swell 
of  the  song  he  thought  he  discerned  a  fa 
miliar  word. 

"  Hoo-mah-no?  "  he  kept  repeating  to  him 
self.  "Surely,  the  grandfather  Desiderio 
said  me  that  word  when  he  told  of  Them- 
of-the-Old,  when  They-with-Striped-Faces 
dwelt  on  yonder  mesa.  But  they  are  all 
dead  these  many  years." 

A  swift,  short  flash  split  the  darkness, 
and  a  growl  of  far  thunder  rolled  across  the 
ruins.  Pablo  glanced  at  the  heaven.  It 
was  sown  thick  with  the  bright  sky-seeds 
that  flew  up  when  the  Coyote  disobeyed 
the  Trues  and  opened  the  sacred  bag. 
From  horizon  to  horizon  there  was  not  a 


1 88  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

cloud;  but  again  the  flash  came,  and  again 
the  mighty  drum-beat  of  Those  Above. 
Pablo  crept  to  a  breach  in  the  wall,  and 
peeped  into  the  gloomy  interior  of  the 
temple.  Even  as  he  looked,  the  zig-zag 
arrow  of  the  Trues  leaped  again  from 
ghostly  wall  to  wall ;  and  its  blinding  flight 
showed  him  that  at  which  he  caught  his 
breath.  For  squat  by  a  corner  in  the  wall 
was  a  white-headed  Indian  waving  his  bare 
arms;  and  facing  him  and  Pablo  a  dusky 
maiden,  with  drooping  head.  But  her  face 
was  burned  into  his  heart. 

"  Surely,  such  are  precious  to  the  Trues! 
For  she  is  as  the  Evening  Star,  good  to 
see!"  and  Pablo  craned  forward  eagerly. 
"The  viejo  will  be  a  Shaman,"  he  added, 
mentally,  "for  so  our  own  Fathers  make 
the  lightning  come  at  the  medicine  dance.* 
But  she!  If  there  were  such  in  Shee-eh- 
huib-bak,  then  one  might  take  a  wife  —  for 
her  face  is  no  face  of  a  witch ! " 

Just  then  there  came  another  flash;  and 
then  a  soft,  girlish  cry.  The  magic  light 
ning  of  the  conjurer  had  betrayed  Pablo; 
and  before  he  could  spring  away  a  heavy 
hand  was  upon  his  shoulder. 

*These  artificial  storms  are  a  favorite  illusion  of  the 
Indian  wizards  of  the  Southwest. 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  189 

" Hi-ma-tu-ku-eh?"  demanded  a  deep  voice 
in  an  unknown  tongue. 

"  Nah  Tee-ivah"  said  the  abashed  hunter, 
trying  in  vain  to  shake  off  that  strong 
grasp. 

"Tee-wah?"  said  the  stranger,  speaking 
in  Pablo's  own  language.  "I,  too,  have  the 
tongue  of  Shee-eh-huib-bak,  for  my  wife 
was  of  there.  But  now  she  has  gone  to 
Shee-p'ah-poon,  and  there  lives  for  me  only 
my  child,  and  she  is  hurt.  But  what  hast 
thou  here,  peeping  at  our  medicine?" 

"It  is  by  chance, Kah-bay-deh,"  answered 
Pablo.  "  For  yesterday  when  the  sun  was 
so,  I  wounded  a  deer,  and  unto  here  I  have 
followed  it  in  vain.  For,  perhaps,  it  has  the 
Power,  and  I  could  not  kill  it.  And  when 
I  heard  thy  song  I  came,  not  knowing  what 
it  was." 

"  Since  yesterday  when  the  sun  was  so, 
thou  hast  followed  the  road  of  a  wounded 
deer?  And  how  wounded?  " 

"In  truth,  I  gave  it  two  arrows  through 
the  life,  but  it  minded  them  not." 

"  Come,  then,  and  thou  shalt  see  thy 
hunting,"  and  he  drew  Pablo  into  the  tem 
ple.  In  a  moment  a  dry  arm  of  the  entraiia 
(which  the  Trues  gave  for  the  first  candles) 
was  burning;  and  by  its  smoky,  flaring 
light  Pablo  could  see  his  strange  surround- 


igo  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

ings.  Beside  him,  that  breakless  hand  still 
on  his  shoulder,  stood  an  aged  Indian.  His 
hair  was  white  as  the  snows  of  Shoo-p'ah- 
too-eh,  and  his  tmdimmed  eyes  shone  from 
deep  under  snowy  brows.  He  was  naked 
but  for  the  breech-clout,  and  upon  his  left 
arm  was  a  great  gauntlet  from  the  forepaw 
of  Ku-ai-deh,  the  bear,  with  all  its  claws. 
But  at  his  wrinkled  face  Pablo  stared  in 
affright,  for  all  across  it  ran  long-,  savage 
knife-stripes,  so  old  that  they,  too,  were  cut 
with  wrinkles.  "Ray ado!  "  flashed  through 
the  young1  hunter's  mind,  "even  as  were 
They-of-the-Old  who  dwelt  in  the  mesa  of 
the  Hoo-mah-no!  But  they  are  all  dead  since 
long  ago." 

But  even  his  superstitious  terror  could 
not  keep  his  eyes  from  that  modest  figure 
crouched  in  the  angle  of  the  strange  wall. 
Truly,  she  was  good  to  look  at.  In  the  soft 
olive  of  the  cheeks  a  sweet,  deep  red  was 
spreading.  Under  the  downcast  eyes  the 
lashes  drew  dark  lines  across  the  translu 
cent  skin.  A  flood  of  hair  poured  into  her 
lap,  and  from  under  its  heavy  waves  peeped 
a  slender  hand.  It  was  plain  from  her  dress 
that  she  was  none  of  the  bdrbaros,  but  a 
Pueblo.  There  was  the  same  modest  black 
mania  of  his  people,  the  same  fat,  boot-like 
leg-wraps  of  snowy  buckskin,  the  same 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  191 

dainty  brown  moccasins.  Even  the  heavy 
silver  rosary  was  about  her  neck,  and  from 
her  ears  hung-  strands  of  precious  turquoise 
beads  from  the  white,  blue-veined  heart  of 
Mount  Chalchihuitl.  But  even  the  white  sil 
ver,  and  the  stone  that  stole  its  color  from 
the  sky  were  not  precious  beside  that  sweet 
young  face  from  which  Pablo  could  not  turn 
away. 

And  as  he  gazed  with  a  strange  warm 
tickling  at  his  heart  strings,  the  long  lashes 
lifted  timidly  toward  the  handsome  stran 
ger,  and  on  a  sudden  the  bright  face  turned 
ashen,  and  the  girl  sank  back  upon  a  heap 
of  fallen  stones.  Pablo  stared  with  wide 
eyes,  and  a  dizziness  ran  from  head  to  knee, 
for  there  were  dark  drops  upon  the  rocks, 
and  amid  the  flowing  hair  he  saw  the  notched 
ends  of  two  arrows  —  his  very  own,  feath 
ered  from  the  gray  quills  of  Koor-nid-deh, 
the  crane.  He  reeled,  to  fall,  but  the  strong 
hand  held  him  up  and  the  strong  voice  said: 

"  Take  the  heart  of  a  man,  for  it  is  not  yet 
too  late.  Thou  hast  done  this,  unknowing; 
for  the  witches  filled  thine  eyes  with  smoke, 
to  fool  thee.  But  we  will  yet  make  medicine 
to  heal  my  daughter  —  for  I  am  the  wizard 
T'bo-deh,  the  last  of  the  Hoo-mah-no,  and 
precious  to  Those  Above,  who  will  help  us. 
But  thou  hast  still  arrows  in  the  quiver  — 


192  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

go,  then,  till  them  come  to  the  first  cliff  on 
the  west,  and  shoot  three  arrows  strongly 
into  the  sky.  And  bring  to  me  that  which 
falls  —  for  it  needs  that  thou-who  hast  shed 
her  blood  shouldst  bring  it  again.  Nay, 
tremble  not,  for  the  Trues  will  help  thee; 
and  with  this  amulet  of  the  striped  stone 
the  witches  cannot  come  nigh.  Take  the 
heart  of  a  man,  and  go!  " 

Pablo  looked  at  the  pitiful  little  heap  in 
the  corner,  and  turning,  manfully  strode 
out  through  the  broad  portal  and  went 
stumbling  westward  in  the  darkness,  over 
mounds  and  hollows  and  fallen  walls.  Down 
the  long,  steep  ridge,  across  the  undulant 
plain,  knee-deep  in  dry  and  whispering 
grass,  and  up  the  western  slope  of  the  val 
ley  he  trudged ;  and  at  last  in  the  darkness 
ran  up  against  a  smooth,  straight  face  of 
rock.  "It  is  the  cliff,"  he  shivered— for  he 
feared  greatly.  But  plucking  up  his  soul, 
he  backed  away  a  few  paces  from  the  rock 
and  notched  a  shaft  and  drew  it  to  the  head 
and  sent  it  hurtling  to  the  sky,  and  another 
and  another.  For  a  long  time  he  waited, 
and  then  there  was  a  soft  whisk  I  and  an 
arrow  stood  in  the  earth  at  his  feet.  He 
groped  and  found  it  and  drew  back  his  hand 
quickly,  for  shaft  and  feathers  were  wet — 
with  that  soft,  warm,  ticklish  wetness  that 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  193 

never  came  from  water  yet.  Another  arrow 
fell  and  it  was  so,  and  so  also  was  the  third. 

Shaken  as  are  the  leaves  of  the  shivering 
tree,*  Pablo  put  to  his  lips  the  amulet  of 
the  wizard  and  drew  a  long-  breath  from  it. 
Then,  gingerly  plucking-  the  standing-  ar 
rows  one  by  one,  he  started  running-  from 
the  haunted  spot,  not  resting-  in  his  stum 
bling-  flig-ht  until  he  found  himself  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill  of  Ta-bi-ra.  In  a  few  moments 
he  was  groping-  along-  the  great  wall,  and  at 
last  stood  again  within  the  roofless  temple. 

Now  there  was  a  tiny  fire  there,  and  the 
old  man  was  squatted  by  it  chanting-  and 
snapping-  two  long-  feathers  tog-ether  in 
rhythm  with  his  wild  refrain.  And  in  the 
corner  was  the  same  dark,  limp  heap,  which 
seemed  to  drift  near  or  farther  away  on  the 
waves  of  the  firelight. 

"It  is  well!"  said  the  old  man,  rising-; 
"for  already  I  have  blown  away  the  evil 
ones,  that  we  be  alone.  And  I  see  that  thou 
hast  brought  blood  from  above  to  pay  for 
that  which  is  lost." 

Taking  from  Pablo's  hand  the  arrows, 
still  red-wet,  he  broke  one  over  the  fire  and 
one  he  thrust  upright  in  the  hard  earth  at 
the  maiden's  feet.  Then  he  rubbed  his 

*  Aspen. 


194  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

hands  with  ashes  and  laid  them  upon  her 
breast,  chanting-: 

"Blood,  water  of  life, 
Come  back  in  the  brooks  of  the  heart  1 
Blood,  water  of  life, 
Give  it  to  drink  again  — 
For  the  red  field  is  dry 
And  nothing  grows." 

As  he  rubbed  and  sang  the  maiden  stirred 
and  moved  and  sat  up.  And  taking-  the 
third  arrow  he  put  the  notch  to  his  lips  and 
the  barb  to  her  side  and  drew  with  a  strong- 
breath,  and  the  buried  shaft  grew  long  and 
longer  from  her  side,  until  it  fell  upon  the 
ground.  So  he  drew  the  second  shaft,  and 
it,  too,  came  away  and  left  her.*  Then  he 
laid  the  arrow  of  power  against  her  side 
and  the  wounds  were  no  more  there;  and 
she  rose  and  took  the  hand  of  Pablo  to  her 
little  mouth  and  breathed  on  it,  and  looked 
up  at  him  with  timid  eyes,  but  Pablo  sank 
down  and  knew  nothing,  for  his  strength 
was  done. 

When  he  woke,  the  Sun-Father  was  high 
over  the  gray  ruins.  Pablo  found  himself 
upon  a  bed  of  dry  grass,  in  the  shadow  of 
the  wall;  and  near  him  sat  the  old  man  who 
was  last  of  the  Hoo-mah-no,  watching  him 
with  clear  eyes.  A  low,  sweet  voice  was 

*This  "  drawing  "  of  objects  from  the  patient  is  another 
stock  trick  of  Pueblo  "  medicine-making." 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  195 

crooning-  a  sleep-song-  in  his  own  tong-ue; 
and  from  behind  a  jutting-  wall  peeped  forth 
a  little  moccasined  foot. 

' '  Sleep  !     Sleep  !     It  is  good  ! 
Sleep  the  Moon-Mother  gave  — 
She  that  bought  us  the  night, 
Paying  her  sight  to  buy  ! 
Sleep  !    For  so  She  is  glad  !" 

Pablo  sat  up,  bending-  forward  if  he 
mig-ht  see  the  sing-er;  but  there  was  only  a 
gleam  of  soft  eyes  around  the  wall,  and 
then  they  were  g-one.  The  old  man  eyed 
him  kindly.  He  was  dressed  now  like 
Pablo,  with  the  garments  of  the  Pueblos; 
and  the  stern,  quiet  face,  with  its  strang-e 
scar-stripes,  seemed  after  all  very  good. 

"Thou  hast  slept  well,  son,"  he  said  at 
last,  "for  we  have  been  here  many  hours. 
But  it  is  hard  to  fight  them  of  the  evil  road, 
and  for  that  thou  wast  tired.  But  rise 
now,  eat  and  be  strong,  for  other  days 
come." 

As  he  spoke  the  maiden  came  bringing  a 
steaming  earthen  bowl  and  set  it  down  tim 
idly  before  the  stranger,  at  whom  she  dared 
not  look,  and  disappeared  again  in  her  nook. 
The  hot  broth  revived  the  young  hunter, 
and  a  new  heart  came  in  him  and  he  was 
strong.  When  he  had  eaten,  the  old  man 
said: 


1 96  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

"Now  thou  art  a  man  again.  Tell  me 
how  goes  with  the  village  of  the  Tee-wahn? 
For  in  fifty  winters  I  have  not  seen  Shee- 
eh-huib-bak  —  since  my  wife  had  come  from 
there  to  P'ah-que-too-ai,  where  I  loved  her. 
Is  it  well  with  the  town?  Do  they  keep  the 
ways  of  the  Old?" 

"There  are  many  True  Believers,"  an 
swered  Pablo  slowly,  "  but  many  have  for 
gotten  the  ways  of  the  Old  and  taken  the 
evil  road,  so  that  it  is  hard  to  know  who  are 
good,  there  are  so  many  witches.  For  that, 
the  young  men  that  believe  in  the  Olds  are 
afraid  to  make  nests,  lest  they  find  feathers 
of  the  accursed  birds  therein  —  for  many 
that  look  to  be  snowbirds  are  inwardly  owls 
and  woodpeckers." 

"And  thou  hast  no  nest?  "  asked  the  old 
man  with  a  keen  glance. 

"  In-ddh-ah!  "  replied  Pablo  emphatically 
—  and  from  the  corner  he  caught  a  bright 
gleam  of  eyes. 

"It  is  well!  For  if  the  nest  be  bad,  how 
shall  the  young  birds  grow  up  clean?  And 
thy  parents?" 

"  My  father  was  War  Captain  of  the  Tee- 
wahn,"  said  Pablo  proudly,  "and  he  taught 
me  the  ways  of  men,  and  the  sacred  stories 
of  the  Old.  But  one  gave  him  the  evil  eye, 
and  he  was  slain  by  the  Cumanche  in  war. 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  197 

My  mother  was  a  True  Believer,  and  soon 
she  went  after  him,  to  make  his  house  good 
in  Shee-p'ah-poon.  So  there  is  left  only  my 
grandfather,  who  is  cacique,  and  my  uncle. 
And  with  my  uncle  I  live,  for  we  are  troth 
of  the  Eagle  clan." 

"It  is  well!  But  now  it  is  to  stay  here 
for  a  time;  for  in  this  place  is  mighty  power 
of  the  Olds.  But  if  thou  wilt  hunt  for  us, 
that  Deer-Maiden  may  eat  well  while  I  fast 
and  talk  with  Those  Above,  then  we  will 
go  with  thee  to  Shee-eh-huib-bak;  for  my 
people  are  no  more  and  my  child  is  lonely 
to  be  with  the  people  of  her  mother.  But 
show  me  the  ivahr  with  which  thou  huntest, 
for  perhaps  the  witches  have  blinded  it.'* 

Pablo  fished  out  the  little  stone  image, 
which  he  had  never  shown  to  man  before, 
and  T'bo-deh  inhaled  from  its  lips. 

"It  is  so  1 "  he  said  angrily;  and  prying 
out  the  turquoise  heart  he  showed  the  hun 
ter  that  from  beneath  it  the  sacred  meal 
was  gone,  and  in  its  place  a  tiny  black 
feather.  "  It  is  no  wonder  that  thy  hunting 
was  ill,"  he  cried,  "for  the  witches  have 
changed  the  heart  of  Keem-ee-deh !  But  I 
will  give  thee  a  strong  ivahr  that  none  can 
kill,"  and  breaking  the  polluted  image  with 
a  rock,  he  covered  the  fragments  with  a 
cloth  and  chanted  a  sacred  song.  In  a  mo- 


198  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

ment  the  cloth  moved,  and  the  wizard  drew 
from  under  it  a  bright  new  Keem-ee-deh, 
carved  from  the  sunlight-stone,  the  yellow 
topaz,  and  bound  to  its  side  was  an  arrow 
head  of  transparent  emerald.  Its  heart  was 
turquoise  and  its  eyes  red  garnets. 

"Take  it,  son,  and  fear  not,"  said  the  aged 
conjurer,  "for  it  is  stronger  than  the  ghosts. 
But  now  go  and  hunt,  for  there  is  no  more 
meat." 

When  Pablo  toiled  up  the  hill  of  ruins  at 
sundown  a  noble  antelope  was  balanced 
upon  his  shoulders  and  a  fat  wild  turkey 
dangled  from  his  belt.  He  threw  them  down 
proudly,  and  was  paid  with  a  shy  glance 
from  the  eyes  that  now  lived  in  his  heart, 
and  the  old  man  said : 

"The  new  -wahr\^  good  !  And  thou  art 
a  hunter  like  Keem-ee-deh  himself.  Verily 
there  will  be  no  lack  of  meat  in  thy  house." 
But  at  this  the  maiden  ran  away  with  a  red 
face,  and  Pablo's  heart  was  glad. 

For  three  days  they  were  there  while  the 
old  man  made  medicine;  and  every  day 
Pablo  brought  back  much  game.  And  every 
day  his  eyes  grew  deeper  and  those  of  the 
maiden  drooped  lower.  On  the  fourth  day 
they  started,  the  three,  to  the  northeast; 
and  with  three  journeys  they  came  toShee- 
eh-huib-bak.  There  Pablo  brought  the 


Pablo's  Deer  Hunt.  199 

strangers  to  his  grandfather,  the  cacique; 
and  when  old  Desiderio  knew  that  this  was 
the  great  wizard,  the  last  of  the  Hoo-mah- 
no,  he  was  very  glad,  and  gave  him  of  the 
common  lands,  that  his  home  should  be  al 
ways  there. 

When  the  people  of  Shee-eh-huib-bak 
were  making  clean  for  the  Noche  Buena, 
Pablo  came  to  the  cacique,  and  said :  "Tata, 
there  is  another  year,  and  I  am  tired  to  be 
alone." 

"But  canst  thou  keep  a  wife?" 

"  Thou  knowest,  tata,  that  none  kill  more 
game.  As  for*my  fields,  they  are  good,  and 
the  careless-weed  never  grows  there." 

"  It  is  truth,  my  son.  And  who  is  good  in 
thine  eyes?" 

"There  is  only  one,  tatita*  and  that  is 
Deer-Maiden,  the  child  of  the  Hoo-mah-no. 
She  is  very  good." 

"I  like  her,"  answered  the  withered  ca 
cique,  slowly,  "for  her  father  has  given 
her  a  good  heart,  and  they  are  both  precious 
to  Those  Above.  It  is  well." 

In  four  days  the  cacique  and  the  Hoo- 
mah-no  brought  Pablo  and  the  Deer-Maiden 
to  the  cacique's  house  and  gave  them  to  eat 
two  ears  of  raw  corn — to  him  a  blue  ear, 
but  to  her  a  white  one,  for  a  woman's  heart 
is  always  whiter.  Pablo  looked  at  her  as 


200  Pablo's  Deer  Hunt. 

he  ate,  but  she  could  not  look.  And  when 
both  had  proved  themselves  by  eating-  the 
last  grain,  the  elders  took  them  out  to  the 
sacred  running-place  and  put  them  side  by 
side,  and  marked  the  course,  and  gave  them 
the  road.  Then  Pablo  went  running  like  a 
strong  antelope,  but  the  girl  like  a  scared 
fawn ;  and  up  the  sacred  hill  they  flew,  and 
turned  at  the  Stone  of  the  Bell,  and  came 
flying  back.  But  now  Pablo  was  slower, 
for  it  is  not  well  to  surpass  one's  bride  in 
the  marrying  race,  as  if  one  would  rob  her 
of  respect;  and  if  they  come  in  equal,  there 
is  no  marriage.  So  she  was  first;  and  all 
the  people  blessed  them,  and  they  were  one. 
No  witch  could  ever  harm  their  house,  for 
He-that-Was-Striped  gave  them  strong 
^  and  they  were  happy. 


Candelaria's  Curse, 


Candelaria's  Curse. 

* 

WHAT  a  snip-click!  snip-click!  snip- 
click!  of  the  big-  steel  shears,  till  the 
corral  rang-  like  an  exaggerated  telegraph 
office!  Hoarse  voices  kept  calling-  out 
"  Numer*  uno!"  "  dieziseis!"  "veintetres!" 
and  tall,  handsome  Lorenzo,  standing-  in  a 
corner  with  the  tally  card  in  his  hand,  pen 
ciled  a  mark  opposite  No.  1,  No.  16,  No.  23, 
and  so  on  as  each  man  called  out  the  num 
ber  by  which  he  was  known.  The  calls 
came  fast,  and  for  each  one  a  shabby  gray 
shadow,  looking-  like  the  g-host  of  a  boy 
with  a  home  hair-cut,  "only  more  so,"  went 
scurrying-  into  the  ranks  of  his  yet  unshorn 
fellows.  The  big-  corral  was  full  as  it  could 
hold.  Fifteen  hundred  sheep  were  there, 
so  tig-htly  packed  that  a  mouse  tossed  upon 
their  backs  could  hardly  have  found  its  way 
to  the  ground  between  them.  Only  in  the 
triang-ular  corners  of  the  fence  (which  was 
built  of  logs  laid  up  in  zig-zag's)  was  there  a 
trifle  of  room ;  and  it  was  from  these  that 
all  the  noise  came.  In  each  was  a  fast- 


2O4  Candelaria's  Curse. 

swelling-  heap  of  dirty,  gray  wool,  and  just 
in  front  of  it  the  shearer.  Each,  as  he 
turned  a  victim  loose,  yelled  out  his  num 
ber,  to  be  tallied  one,  and  running-  upon  the 
huddled  mass  of  sheep,  caug-ht  one  by  the 
fleece  with  each  hand,  dragged  it  to  his 
corner,  flopped  it  upon  its  side,  knotted  its 
four  sharp  feet  tog-ether  with  a  dextrous 
movement,  and,  snatching-  the  shears  from 
his  belt,  fell  instantly  to  work.  It  was  a 
scene  to  bewilder  an  Eastern  sheep-grower. 
There  were  no  shearing-  tables.  Each  man 
bent  over,  as  thoug-h  there  were  a  hinge  in 
his  waist,  until  his  hands  were  within  six 
inches  of  the  ground,  and  thus  worked  all 
day  long-.  Holding-  and  turning-  the  sheep 
with  the  left  hand,  with  the  right  he  drove 
the  sharp  blades  snipping  through  the  wool 
with  startling  rapidity  —  till,  almost  before 
one  knew  it,  the  whole  fleece  rolled  off  to 
one  side,  very  much  as  if  it  had  been  an  un 
broken  pelt.  As  quick  a  motion  freed  the 
feet  again  and  the  shorn  creature  scrambled 
up  and  ran  to  hide  his  confusion,  while  the 
shearer  was  already  playing  barber  to  the 
"next  gentleman." 

So  it  was  no  sleepy  work,  tallying  for  the 
thirty-seven  swart  fellows  who  were  doing 
Don  Roman's  fall  shearing,  and  any  one  less 
practiced  than  Lorenzo  might  have  lost 


Candelaria's  Curse.  205 

count  now  and  then.  Every  one  seemed  to 
be  working-  his  best,  but  the  two  cries  that 
came  oftenest  of  any  were  "trece"  and 
"  diezisiete"  Number  thirteen  was  a  short, 
thickset  Mexican  from  Los  Lunas,  known 
(because  of  his  unusually  dark  complexion) 
as  Black  Juan,  and  number  seventeen  was 
that  two-fisted  Pedro  of  Cubero.  They  had 
been  for  several  years  the  two  best  shearers 
in  Valencia  county,  and  therefore,  very 
naturally,  rivals  —  though  in  some  way  they 
had  never  come  together  before.  But  now 
finding1  themselves,  on  the  eve  of  the  fall 
clip  of  50.000  sheep,  face  to  face  each  with 
a  man  he  had  never  seen,  but  had  disliked 
for  ten  years,  neither  could  refrain  from  a 
slight  curl  of  the  lip.  That  fellow  such  a 
guapo?  Huh!  He  might  make  a  noise 
among  the  slowpokes  down  in  the  valley, 
but  beside  a  real  shearer  there  wouldn't  be 
enough  of  him  to  make  a  shadow !  It  was 
not  long  before  their  thoughts  came  to 
speech,  and  soon  they  had  made  a  wager  for 
a  sheep-shearing  race  on  the  morrow.  The 
ponies  upon  which  they  had  come,  their 
tattered  blankets  and  a  large  proportion  of 
their  prospective  wages  were  staked  on 
which  should  shear  the  more  fleeces  be 
tween  sunrise  and  sunset. 


2o6  Candelaria's  Curse. 

For  eleven  hours,  now,  the  race  had  been 
in  progress.  Lorenzo  had  given  the  word 
when  the  first  rim  of  sun  peered  above  the 
yellow  mesas.  At  noon  the  other  shearers 
had  taken  the  usual  half  hour  to  swallow 
the  rude  meal  of  tortillas  and  roasted  sheep- 
ribs,  but  Juan  and  Pedro  had  worked  dog 
gedly  on.  The  crunch  of  their  shears 
seemed  never  to  stop,  and  against  the  num 
bers  thirteen  and  seventeen  the  little  slant 
ing-  marks  (each  fourth  one  crossed)  had 
crept  clear  across  the  tally  card  and  Loren 
zo  had  to  start  a  new  line  for  each  of  them. 

Five  o'clock — five-thirty — six — and  sud 
denly  the  timekeeper  shouted  "Ya'std!" 
The  noise  redoubled  for  a  moment  as  each 
man  hurried  to  finish  his  present  sheep, 
and  then  stopped.  Bent  backs  straig-htened 
slowly  amid  a  general  sig-h  of  relief.  A 
hard  day,  truly.  Not  a  man  in  the  corral, 
even  down  to  young-  Blea,  who  had  not 
sheared  his  sixty  or  seventy  sheep.  But 
the  rivals?  All  crowded  around  Lorenzo  as 
he  beg-an  to  count  up. 

"  M  —  m  —  m  —  twenty-four,  twenty-five 
• — twenty-five  tallies  and  three.  Pedro  has 
one  hundred  and  twenty-eig-ht  sheep  1 "  And 
Juan?  "M  —  m  —  m  —  twenty-seven  tallies 
and  one  —  one  hundred  and  thirty-six! 


Candelaria's  Curse.  207 

Bravo!  Que  guapol"  And  the  evening 
air  rang  with  shouts. 

"Thou  couldst  not  have  done  it  fairly!  " 
growled  Pedro,  with  rage  in  every  line  of 
his  dusty  face. 

"How,  fairly,  sleepyhead?  Have  I  not 
worked  openly  before  all?  " 

But  Pedro  went  over  the  fence  sullenly 
and  walked  away,  muttering  to  himself. 
Only  when  a  couple  of  other  shearers 
joined  him  at  his  camp-fire  did  he  give 
further  vent  to  his  feelings. 

"Thrice  fool  that  I  was,"  he  snarled,  "to 
make  a  bet  against  that !  For  clearly  to-day 
my  shears  were  bewitched  and  would  not 
cut  well.  And  you  know  well  the  why — it 
is  that  old  bruja  of  a  Candelaria  who  has 
given  them  the  evil  eye!  For  yesterday, 
as  she  passed,  my  dog  ran  at  her,  whereat  I 
laughed,  and  in  the  act  she  turned  and 
cursed  me." 

"Thou  didst  ill,"  said  one  of  his  compan 
ions.  "All  know  that  she  is  a  witch,  and 
works  all  manner  of  evil  to  them  that  offend 
her.  Why,  there  was  Marcelino,  who  re 
fused  to  give  her  meat  when  he  killed  a 
sheep,  and  straightway  she  made  a  mouse 
to  steal  into  his  stomach,  so  that  it  was  near 
to  kill  him." 


208  Candelaria's  Curse. 

"But  I  am  not  Marcelino,  then,  to  go  pay 
a  horse  to  another  witch  to  cure  me.  No,  I 
will  have-me-them  with  her.  She  shall  pay 
me  for  this  loss  and  for  the  laughter  they 
have  put  upon  me." 

"What  is  that,  Pedro ?"  said  young 
Alonzo,  coming-  up  just  then  and  squatting 
by  the  fire.  "  You  wouldn't  hurt  the  poor 
old  woman?" 

"Who  gave  you  a  candle  in  this  funeral?" 
snapped  the  defeated  shearer.  "That  is 
what  I  will  do.  There  are  too  many  of  these 
brujas  putting  spells  on  innocent  folks,  and 
there's  only  one  way  to  cure  them  —  the 
way  they  did  in  San  Mateo  last  year.  We  '11 
stone  her  for  a  witch.  And  much  care  thou, 
that  thou  get  not  hurt  also!" 

The  two  others  made  no  serious  opposi 
tion  to  Pedro's  plan.  They  had  nothing 
against  the  old  woman  themselves,  but 
every  one  knew  that  such  witches  were  a 
great  pest  to  the  community — perhaps  it 
would  be  a  public  service  to  put  her  out  of 
the  way.  Besides,  they  were  rather  used 
to  being  led  around  by  the  nose  by  Pedro, 
who,  in  addition  to  his  prowess  as  a  shearer, 
was  so  powerful  and  reckless  that  he  had 
become  the  acknowledged  leader  of  a  cer 
tain  class. 


Candelaria's  Curse.  209 

" Pues,  understood!  We  will  go  over 
presently  and  give  the  old  hag-  a  shower  of 
St.  Peter's  tears!  And  thou  " — turning1  to 
Alonzo,  who  was  rising  to  go — "the  less 
tongue,  the  less  sore  bones,  eh?" 

Candelaria  lived  across  the  arroyo  in  a 
miserable  little  jacal  of  pinon*  trunks 
chinked  with  mud,  right  up  against  the  side 
of  the  great  lava  flow.  She  was  a  sorry- 
looking  hag;  and,  on  seeing  her,  the  first 
thought  of  much  better  educated  people 
than  Pedro  would  very  likely  have  been: 
"What  an  old  witch!"  She  was  tall  and 
gaunt  and  incredibly  wrinkled,  but  with 
such  keen  black  eyes  that  almost  every  one 
shrank  at  her  gaze. 

Alonzo  himself  was  certainly  not  fond  of 
her,  and  probably  it  would  not  be  too  much 
to  say  that  he  was  secretly  a  bit  afraid  of 
this  grim,  dark  figure  in  greasy  tatters,  de 
spite  his  year  of  school  in  the  little  mission 
at  San  Rafael.  But  at  thought  of  her  be 
ing  stoned  to  death  he  felt  a  sudden  revul 
sion. 

"But  what  to  do?  "  he  muttered  to  himself 
as  he  slouched  away  from  the  camp-fire. 
"Pedro  is  bad  to  meddle  with,  and  no  one 
here  will  help  me;  even  Don  Roman  is  afraid 
of  the  witches,  and  hates  them.  Ea!  I  will 

*  Peen-i/one. 


2io  Candelaria's  Curse. 

go  warn  her,  so  she  can  hide  till  the  shearers 
have  gone." 

It  was  already  very  dark  as  he  stumbled 
over  the  rocky  ground  and  turned  west 
along  the  bank  of  the  arroyo.  This  was  a 
deep  ravine  plowed  through  the  meadow  by 
the  intermittent  brook  from  the  snows  of 
the  Zuni  mountains.  In  summer  there  was 
no  stream,  but  here  and  there  were  pools 
enough  for  the  thirsty  sheep  and  cattle. 
Now  there  had  been  rains,  and  a  narrow  rill 
connected  the  brimming  pools.  He  found 
the  white,  peeled  log  which  served  as  a  foot 
bridge  from  bank  to  bank,  and  started  to 
walk  cautiously  across  it.  Midway  he 
stopped  suddenly  with  an  audible  chuckle, 
turned,  came  back  and  shambled  toward 
the  corrals.  Something  seemed  to  amuse 
him  mightily,  for  at  every  few  steps  he 
paused  to  laugh  softly.  Camp-fires  burned 
all  about  the  corral,  and  even  far  up  the 
rocky  mesa,  where  the  sheep  were  being 
herded  for  the  night;  but  Alonzo  had  eyes 
for  but  one.  Near  an  angle  of  the  enclos 
ure  stood  a  stout  post,  and  not  far  from  its 
foot  was  a  bed  of  embers  surrounded  with 
sooty  kettles  and  frying  pans.  It  was  Tel- 
ango's  slaughter  house  and  kitchen,  where 
that  greasy  gentleman  turned  twenty 


Candel^ria's  Curse.  2 1 1 

sheep  a  day  into  soups  and  joints  for  the 
shearers. 

Telang-o  was  at  the  moment  absent,  and 
when  he  returned  to  his  post  a  kettle  of 
mutton  tallow  that  had  been  trying-  out 
over  the  embers  was  missing-.  That  should 
have  made  a  pretty  row,  for  the  cook  was 
a  touchy  autocrat;  but,  supper  being-  over, 
Telango  was  so  sleepy  that  he  would  scarce 
have  noticed  it  had  his  whole  kitchen  been 
carried  off. 

"  Well,  are  we  ready  ?  "  asked  Pedro  in  a 
low  tone  of  his  allies  a  little  after  8  o'clock. 
Every  one  else  was  asleep,  apparently. 
The  camp-fires  had  all  died  down  and  no  one 
was  moving-.  Pedro  rose  quietly  and  stole 
off  into  the  darkness,  followed  by  Pepe  and 
'Lipe.  "Close  behind  me,"  he  whispered, 
"and  with  care,  for  if  she  hears  us  she. can 
hide  in  the  malpais,  where  no  one  could  find 
her." 

"But  perhaps  she  would  not  run,"  broke 
out '  Lipe  uneasily,  as  they  neared  the  ar- 
royo.  "Since  she  is  a  witch  she  mig-ht 
rather  throw  a  spell  on  us." 

"  Quiet  you  the  mouth,  stupid  I  We  have 
only  to  take  care  that  she  does  not  hear  us." 

"But  I  have  heard  that  they  need  not  the 
ears,  for  the  evil  spirits  tell  them." 


212  Candelaria's  Curse. 

4 'Let  the  evil  one  tell  her,  if  he  will!" 
growled  Pedro.  "I  would  like  to  see  him 
keep  this  from  her,"  and  he  picked  up  a 
jagged  lava  fragment  over  which  he  had 
stumbled.  "Be  not  sheep!  Close  behind 
me,  now." 

Pedro  stepped  out  upon  the  log"  whose 
white  length  stretching  into  the  gloom 
seemed  to  rest  upon  nothing.  His  teguas 
made  no  noise  upon  the  wood,  and  he  was 
midway  across  when  suddenly  there  came 
a  stifled  oath.  His  feet  flew  right  and  left 
and  he  dropped  astride  the  log  with  a  vio 
lence  that  shook  the  breath  out  of  him,  and 
in  the  same  instant  began  to  slip  to  one 
side.  In  vain  he  clutched  at  the  log.  It 
gave  no  hold,  and  lurching  over  he  dropped 
twenty  feet.  There  was  a  tremendous 
splash;  and  then  another  and  another. 
Pepe  and  'Lipe  had  followed  their  leader 
downward  without  even  stopping  to  sit 
down  first. 

The  shores  here  were  steep  and  rocky, 
cut  deep  in  a  lava  flow  millenniums  older 
than  that  whose  jet  black  miles  lay  along 
the  pretty  meadow.  In  the  middle  was  a 
long,  deep  pool  wherein  the  few  boys  of 
Alamitos  were  wont  to  swim  in  summer. 
Just  now  it  was  not  particularly  attractive. 
During  the  shearing  several  thousand  sheep 


Candelaria's  Curse.  213 

were  watered  daily  at  the  head  of  this  pool 
and  at  the  shallower  one  above,  and  at  such 
times  no  one  thought  of  bathing1  in  the  odor 
ous  mess. 

Any  one  listening  might  have  heard  for 
some  seconds  after  the  splashes  nothing 
but  a  faint  gurgle,  as  of  bubbles  breaking. 
Then  there  were  curious  snorts  and  plash- 
ings,  as  if  that  invisible  black  abyss  had 
suddenly  become  the  home  of  a  hippopota 
mus  family,  and  then  a  laborious  thrashing 
about.  Presently  there  was  a  rattle  of 
pebbles,  mingled  with  coughs  and  angry 
mutterings,  as  if  some  one  were  trying  to 
scale  the  banks. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  this  side,  stu 
pids?"  Pedro  whispered  across  when  he 
had  done  choking  and  sputtering.  "The 
bruja  lives  over  here  —  not  yonder.  Va- 
mos!" 

uBut  man!  We  are  not  crazy!  Seest 
thou  not  that  she  has  the  power  and  so 
easily  has  bewitched  us?  If  we  go  further 
we  shall  find  worse." 

"Four  times  fools!  It  was  only  that  I 
slipped,  and  you,  being  scared,  fell  also. 
Come  on!" 

"Thanks,"  answered  Pepe  and  'Lipe  in 
a  breath.  "But  even  fools  know  better 
than  to  defy  the  evil  one." 


214  Candelaria's  Curse. 

"Come  over  or  you  answer  to  me!" 
snorted  Pedro,  forgetting-  his  caution. 
"Cowards  that  you  are,  I'll  show  you," 
and  he  started  back  across  the  log-  to  get  in 
arg-uing-  reach  of  the  deserters. 

But  four  steps  from  the  bank  his  feet 
again  suddenly  leaped  out  from  under  him 
and  the  log  smote  him  in  the  back  with  a 
loud  thump,  and  a  wild  splash  flung  a  dirty 
rain  in  the  faces  of  his  terrified  companions. 

"Uh,  uh!  "  he  gasped,  coming  to  the  sur 
face  at  last.  "Kff!  Tchoo!"  for  he  had 
swallowed  a  most  unsavory  pint. 

"Ah,  ha-ha!  "  rang  a  weird,  shrill  laugh 
from  the  southern  bank.  Pepe  and  'Lipe 
crossed  themselves  and  took  to  their  heels, 
without  thought  of  waiting  for  their  leader. 
It  struck  a  chill  through  Pedro,  too,  as  he 
floundered  to  the  shore  and  clambered  up 
the  jagged  rocks  frantically,  cutting  his 
hands  and  knees.  But  he  hardly  noticed 
that  —  all  he  could  think  of  was  the  mocking 
laugh.  Candelaria's  laugh !  After  all,  she 
was  too  strong !  There  was  no  use  fighting 
against  these  witches  —  just  see  how  easily 
she  had  undone  his  strength  and  wit !  No 
more  witch  hunts  for  him  —  and  he  scram 
bled  up  the  bank  in  utter  rout.  Just  then 
a  dark  form  reached  out  overhead.  Pedro 


Candelaria's  Curse.  2 1 5 

did  not  see  it;  but  in  an  instant  came  a 
warm,  suffocating  avalanche  which  choked 
his  cry  of  terror  and  half  blinded  him. 

"Murder ! "  he  managed  to  sputter  at  last. 
"  So-cor-r-r-ro  I  "  and  he  fled  to  the  camp  like 
one  chased  by  wolves. 

"So,  thief!  Shameless!  It  was  thou  that 
stole  my  tallow,  then!"  roared  Telango, 
who  had  discovered  his  loss  just  now.  "  To 
anoint  that  dirty  head,  eh?  Then  take 
this !  "  and  with  a  stout  cudgel  he  belabored 
the  luckless  Pedro  till  the  latter  broke  away 
and  fled  into  further  darkness.  No  wonder 
Telango  had  found  him  out  —  his  great 
shock  of  hair  and  beard  were  matted  in  a 
gray,  greasy  mask,  like  the  runnings  of  a 
cheap  candle. 

Pedro  did  not  finish  the  shearing  season. 
Next  morning  he  was  missing  from  Alami- 
tos,  and  a  few  days  later  news  came  that  he 
was  in  Cubero.  His  accomplices  had  no 
explanations  to  offer  for  his  disappearance 
or  for  their  wet  clothing,  and  as  for  Alonzo, 
he  "  told  nothing  to  nobody."  Only  at  times 
he  was  observed  to  drop  his  shears  and 
double  up  as  though  he  had  a  pain  in  his 
stomach,  while  his  face  would  become  suspi 
ciously  red.  Furthermore,  he  came  care 
lessly  up  to  Telango  at  noon  with : 


2i6  Candelaria's  Curse. 

"Oh,  here  's  your  lard  bucket  —  I  picked 
it  up  by  the  arroyo.  And  say  —  if  you  want 
to  make  candles,  you  'd  better  go  scrape  the 
foot-log.  Somebody  has  greased  the  whole 
middle  of  it! " 

"  What  thing?  "  grumbled  Telango.  "Of 
the  witches,  no  doubt.  And  quizas  the  same 
who  anointed  Pedro. " 

"  Quizas, "  answered  Alonzo  solemnly,  and 
he  walked  off  without  cracking  a  smile. 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 
L 

THE  end  drew  near  of  the  longest  siege 
that  was  ever  in  any  of  the  three 
Americas.  More  than  a  year  ago  the  red 
field  of  Ayacucho  had  crowned  the  triumph 
of  the  rebel  colonies.  The  mother-nation 
that  found  the  New  World,  and  tamed  it  and 
gave  it  to  her  sons,  no  longer  had  sons  there, 
for  the  very  last  had  disowned  her.  Mexi 
co,  the  first  great  Spanish  kingdom  in  Amer 
ica,  had  turned  republic;  and  so  had  the 
neighbor  provinces.  South  America  had 
followed  suit;  for  the  cry  of  "Independ 
ence,"  premature  as  it  was  among  these 
peoples,  then  and  still  so  unripe  for  self- 
government,  carried  contagion,  and  Peru 
itself,  the  gem  of  the  conquest,  the  land  of 
riches  and  romance,  had  thrown  off  the 
merciful  "yoke"  of  home  to  stagger  for 
generations  under  the  ten-fold  worse  yoke 
of  her  own  corrupt  sons.  Of  all  the  Ameri 
cas  that  had  been  Spain's  by  discovery,  by 
conquest  and  by  settlement,  there  now  re 
mained  to  her  on  the  continent  only  the 

219 


220        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

space  boxed  by  the  four  walls  of  Callao* — 
a  space  a  mile  and  a  half  square.  There 
the  red-yellow-and-red  flag:  still  flaunted  de 
fiance  to  the  victorious  insurgents;  for  there 
Rodil,f  "the  second  Leonidas,"was  making1 
the  last  heroic  stand  for  Spain. 

It  was  hopeless  odds  —  this  fiery  loyalist 
against  all  rebel  South  America.  There 
was  no  possibility  of  reinforcements  from 
anywhere;  no  chance  of  retreat.  Cooped 
up  in  what  was  then  the  larg-est  fort  in  the 
New  World,  he  saw  the  land  fenced  with 
the  flushed  armies  of  Bolivar, J  the  bay 
blocked  by  the  allied  fleets.  For  twenty- 
one  months  he  had  repulsed  their  almost 
daily  attacks  and  outwitted  their  ceaseless 
stratagems;  and  for  twenty-one  months, 
too,  had  baffled  the  still  more  dangerous 
foes  within  his  walls.  Of  the  two  thousand 
eight  hundred  men  at  his  hand  when  the 
siege  began,  March  1, 1824,  over  seven  hun 
dred  had  been  killed  and  more  than  twice 
as  many  had  died  of  the  pestilence.  Of  the 
eight  thousand  citizens  first  within  the  fort 
—  for  all  Callao  was  included  by  those  huge 
ramparts  —  two  thousand  four  hundred  had 
been  sent  out  to  avoid  famine,  and  over  five 


*  The  proper  pronunciation  is  Cal-jya7i-o.       t  Ro-deel 
JThis  is  properly  pronounced  not  Bollivar,  but  Bo- 
Zee-var. 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        221 

thousand  had  fallen  by  the  plague.  The 
survivors  had  no  heart  left.  Almost  daily 
some  new  plot  to  betray  the  fort  was  dis 
covered,  and  almost  daily  the  "iron  gen 
eral  "  gave  a  row  of  conspirators  to  the 
musketeers.  To  war,  disease  and  treach 
ery,  famine  added  its  terrors.  Horse  meat 
and  rats  were  already  delicacies;  and  only 
yesterday,  a  noble  invalid  had  given  a  plate 
heaped  up  with  gold  for  three  lemons. 

It  was  New  Year's  eve.  That,  down 
here,  twelve  degrees  below  the  equator, 
meant  high  summer.  All  day  long  the  tropic 
heat  had  beaten  mercilessly  upon  Callao, 
and  now  the  wan  defenders  lay  sprawled 
along  the  ramparts  beside  their  guns,  drink 
ing  the  grateful  dusk.  Here  and  there 
sounded  the  uneven  tramp  of  the  patrol 
down  the  cobble-paved  streets,  and  their 
sharp  challenge,  "Alto!  Quien  vive?"  to 
every  one  they  met.  It  rang  out  now,  and 
the  soldiers  crossed  their  muskets  before  a 
tall,  gray-robed  figure. 

"It  is  I,  my  children,"  was  the  quiet 
answer.  "  Delay  me  not,  for  I  go  to  the 
sick." 

"Pass,  father,"  said  the  sargento,  and 
all  lifted  their  caps,  stepping  from  the 
narrow  sidewalk  to  make  room  for  the 
priest. 


222        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

"But  what  is  this?"  cried  the  officer, 
suddenly  thrusting-  out  his  long-  arm  and 
clutching-  something-  which  was  about  to 
fly  right  between  them.  It  was  a  thin,  pale 
girl  of  ten,  hooded  in  the  black  manta  of 
her  people. 

"  Que  es  esto?"  repeated  the  sargento 
more  gently.  "Dost  thou  not  know  the 
orders  that  none  shall  move  upon  the  street 
after  dark,  since  so  many  drop  letters  over 
the  walls  to  the  rebels?  Get  thee  in,  for 
even  children  are  not  exempt,"  and  he 
pushed  her  back  into  the  doorway  from 
which  she  had  just  burst. 

But  the  child  made  no  motion  to  obey. 
"The  padre!"  she  panted.  "The  padre! 
For  my  brother  is  very  sick." 

"  Si,pues?  Well,  go  thou  and  catch  the 
fraile,  then.  But  much  eye  that  thou  come 
not  near  the  walls."  And  the  kindly  old 
Spaniard  led  his  men  off  down  the  street. 

By  this  time  the  priest  had  turned  the 
corner;  and  when  the  child  came  flying-  to 
that  street,  lo!  he  was  far  ahead.  But  she 
kept  running-  breathlessly  and  at  last,  where 
the  dark  bulk  of  the  castle  of  San  Felipe 
overhung  them,  she  plucked  the  gray  robe 
from  behind.  Her  bare  feet  had  drawn  no 
noise  from  the  stones,  and  the  priest  started 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        223 

violently,  choking-  back  what  sounded  like 
the  beginning-  of  a  cry. 

He  wheeled  sharply  about  with  a  stern 
"What  is  this?"  —  but  his  voice  was 
pinched. 

"My  brother — very  sick — padre!  Please, 
your  grace,  come!"  she  panted. 

"To  the  devils  with  your  brother!"  he 
growled,  flinging-  her  off.  "  Vdyatel"  and 
he  was  gone  before  the  dumbfounded  child 
could  speak  again.  She  stood  a  moment 
looking  stupidly  after  him,  and  then,  sob 
bing,  limped  wearily  homeward. 

II. 

The  house,  like  most  of  Callao  in  those 
ill  days,  was  little  better  than  a  wreck 
after  twenty-one  months  of  the  rebel  can 
nonading.  The  dark  stairway  teetered  and 
groaned  dismally  as  she  scrambled  up,  and 
overhead  the  Southern  Cross  blinked  hazily 
at  her  through  a  tattered  frame  —  the  in 
surgent  shells  had  left  little  of  the  flimsy 
roofs  of  the  city  where  it  never  rains. 
Long,  ragged  strips  of  bamboo  lathing 
dangled  here  and  there,  and  at  her  childish 
tread  dribbles  of  the  gravel  covering  came 
pattering  about  her  like  uncanny  footfalls. 
She  was  trembling  all  over  when  she  pushed 
open  a  broken  door  and  entered  the  room, 


224        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

the  rude  Moorish  balcony  of  which  over 
hung-  the  street.  There  was  a  hole  in  the 
roof  here,  too,  and  the  doors  of  the  balcony 
had  been  splintered  by  a  cannon  ball.  A 
twisted  rag-  flared  smokily  in  an  iron  plate 
of  grease  on  a  broken  chair,  and  where  the 
vagrant  shadows  began  to  stand  their 
ground  against  its  feeble  rays,  some  one 
was  bending-  over  a  tattered  mattress  upon 
the  floor. 

"  No  hay  cuidado"  said  a  strange  voice 
as  she  stopped  short,  in  alarm.  "  The  sar- 
gento  bade  me  bring  a  cup  of  caldo  for  thy 
brother,  seeing-  thee  so  much  a  woman. 
For  now  that  there  is  nothing-  to  eat,  he 
said,  perhaps  that  would  be  the  best  medi 
cine." 

"God  pay  you!"  cried  the  child  ner 
vously.  *  '  And  my  brother  ? ' ' 

"  He  drank  the  broth  as  one  greedy,  and 
in  a  moment  fell  asleep.  How  many  days 
makes  it  that  he  is  sick?" 

"Two,  senor.  Since  four  days  there  was 
nothing-  to  eat  but  two  crusts  of  bread,  and 
those  he  made  me  eat." 

"  Pobrecito  I  He  has  no  more  than 
hunger.  To-morrow  I  will  bring  another 
caldo  —  for  even  broth  of  horse  gives 
strength  —  that  ye  may  not  starve.  But 
have  ye  no  fathers?" 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        225 

"  Papa  fell  in  San  Felipe ;  and  our  mother 
was  sent  from  the  city  with  many.  But  us 
she  hid  in  the  house,  saying-  that  the  enemy 
had  no  mercy  even  to  the  weak.  And  so  it 
was;  for  the  women  that  tried  to  pass  to 
Lima  the  insurjentes  fired  upon.  And  she 
never  came  back." 

"Dog-s  of  rebels!  But  now  I  g-o,  little 
one.  Have  heart,  for  I  will  look  to  you. 
Hdstaluego." 

When  he  was  g-one  the  child  crouched 
down  by  her  brother  and  slipped  her  trem 
bling-  hand  into  his.  The  shadows  were  so 
crawly  !  They  seemed  to  draw  back  and 
then  come  stealing-  at  her.  And  it  was  so 
still — only  the  hail  of  the  sentries,  breaking 
across  such  a  silence  as  if  they  stood  g-uard 
over  a  city  of  the  dead. 

"  Que  hay,  little  sister?"  said  the  boy, 
starting-  up  wide  awake  with  the  sudden 
ness  of  those  that  are  fevered.  "The 
father  ?  Couldst  not  find  one  ?  But  it  is  all 
the  same,  for  God  sent  us  a  friend  with 
food." 

"And  he  comes  to-morrow  also,"  she 
added  eag-erly.  Then  she  told  how  she  had 
followed  the  priest,  but  he  had  shaken  her 
off  with  roug-h  words. 


226        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

"£a?  How  is  that?  For  the  fathers 
do  not  so.  And  how  is  it  thou  followedst 
him  even  to  the  Castillo?  " 

"  Pues>  for  that  he  went  very  fast  and  I 
could  not  catch  him.  He  was  at  the  corner 
even  when  the  sargento  let  me  pass;  but 
when  I  came  running-  there  he  was  almost 
at  the  next  cuadra,  as  if  he  too  had  run." 

Vicente  suddenly  sat  up  on  the  squalid 
mattress.  The  smoky  wick  flung  deep 
shadows  in  his  hollow  cheeks,  and  he  looked 
so  pale  and  wild  that  Lina  almost  cried  out 
at  him. 

"I  tell  thee,  'manita,"  he  whispered  earn 
estly,  * '  I  believe  not  in  that  priest  1  Running 
so,  and  so  rough  to  thee !  And  thou  sayest 
that  at  touch  of  thy  hand  to  his  robe  he 
started  and  was  to  call  out?  There  is  a 
danger,  I  tell  thee !  "  he  repeated  vehem 
ently,  striking  his  thin  fist  upon  the  floor 
till  the  impish  shadows  danced  again. 
"  All  is  crooked  now,  when  they  say  the  very 
captains  wait  to  sell  our  general.  And  if  th e 
priests  be  traitors  too " 

"  But  what  to  do  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  in  awe 
of  this  fierce  young  brother. 

"  Ay !  What  to  do  ?  For  we  know  noth 
ing.  But  something  there  zs,  my  heart  tells 
me.  OyezI  Wouldst  thou  know  the  padre 
again,  seeing  him  ?  " 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        227 

"  Como  no?  For  it  was  near  thefarol, 
and  I  saw  under  the  hood  his  eyes,  how 
shining  they  were." 

"And  his  voice,  too  —  no?  Come,  then, 
and  we  will  see  who  is  this  father  that 
curses  his  children  ! "  And  the  boy  rose 
eagerly,  though  his  legs  shook  under  him. 

"  But  how  canst  thou  go  out,  hermano,  be 
ing  so  sick?" 

"No  hay  cuidado.  For  now  it  is  for  our 
king  against  the  rebels,  and  strength  I  shall 
have  for  that.  The  caldo  also  gives  me  new 
life.  Vamos!" 

III. 

Weak  as  he  was,  he  drew  her  down  the 
tottering  stairs  and  into  the  dark  street; 
and  there  they  stood  a  moment,  not 
knowing  whither  to  turn.  "  Claro  !  "  ex 
claimed  Vicente,  "we  will  follow  as  he  went 
— perchance  we  may  meet  him  returning." 

But  at  the  very  corner  some  one  turning 
in  hastily  from  the  next  street  stumbled 
fairly  over  them;  and  Vicente  and  Linaand 
the  stranger  went  down  in  a  heap. 

"Little  animals!"  snarled  an  angry 
voice.  "Are  you  blind?  For  a  so-little  I 
would  break  your  bones.  Eh ?  He  is  who  ? ' ' 
he  hissed,  catching  them  by  the  arms  — 
for  he  had  heard  Lina's  excited  whisper, 


228        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

"She  says  you  are  the  priest  that  would 
not  go  to  her  sick  brother,"  answered  Vi 
cente  in  a  steady  voice, "  and  I  believe  it,  for 
you  are  rough  to  the  weak.  But  we  will  find 
a  padre  who  is  not  so." 

" Mdrchanse,  brats!"  said  the  stranger 
in  a  tone  of  relief.  "But,"  he  added,  turn 
ing  and  shaking  his  finger  at  them,  "no  more 
running  after  me,  or  I  throw  you  over  the 
wall." 

"Have  no  care,  senor  padre,"  said  Vi 
cente,  with  sarcastic  politeness ;  and  taking 
Lina  by  the  hand  he  hurried  around  the 
corner.  In  a  moment  he  turned  his  h  ead  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  some  dark  object  peer 
ing  past  the  wall.  ".£$/"  he  whispered, 
squeezing  the  slender  fingers,  and  a  few  rods 
farther  on  drew  Lina  into  a  recess  of  the 
wall.  He  was  trembling  all  over. 

"Esl"  he  repeated.  "Canst  thou  not  see 
that  he  is  no  fraile,  though  he  wears  the 
habit  ?  It  is  the  voice  of  a  soldier  and  not  of 
the  church.  And  here  !  This  fell  to  my 
very  hand  when  we  all  went  to  the  ground 
together" — and  he  held  up  a  crumpled 
paper.  "But  first  it  is  to  see  whither  goes 
this  father  of  rebels.  Come  so  far  as  the 
house  and  there  wait  me,  for  it  is  better 
that  I  go  alone." 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        229 

"But,  Vicente  — I  — I 'm  afraid  of  the 
dulndes  I " 

"  Epa  !  Fear  not,  sisterling,  for  the  gob 
lins  touch  not  those  that  are  true.  Re 
member,  it  is  for  Spain  !  "  And  pushing- 
her  gently  inside  their  own  doorway,  and 
stooping-  to  kiss  her,  he  hurried  down  the 
street. 

Lina  dared  not  climb  the  noisy  stairs  to 
the  deserted  rooms.  She  crouched  in  the 
hall,  shivering-,  drawing-  the  manta  about 
her  shoulders  as  if  with  cold,  but  shutting- 
her  teeth  bravely.  The  shuffle  of  Vicente's 
broken  shoes  had  already  died  away ;  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  world  had  slipped 
past  with  him.  Ag^es  and  ag-es  she  waited, 
till  'she  was  ready  to  scream  with  fear; 
and  then  she  sprang-  nervously  to  the  door 
at  a  sound  in  the  street.  It  was  only  a 
patrol  shambling-  over  the  crazy  cobble 
stones,  but  as  it  drew  nig-h  she  was  seized 
with  a  sudden  access  of  fear.  Between 
them  stumbled  Vicente,  a  heavy  hand  on 
either  shoulder. 

"  Let  him  g-o  !  "  she  cried,  rushing-  upon 
the  soldiers  as  if  to  strike  them  down.  "He 
is  my  little  brother,  and  has  done  nothing-. 
Only  we  found  the " 

"  Cdllete,  Lina ! "  spoke  up  Vicente 
sharply.  "If  only  the  senor  official  will  be 


230        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

so  good  as  to  take  her  with  me  to  the  gen 
eral —  for  she  is  quite  alone,  senor." 

"It  is  well — come  on,  little  Amazon !"  said 
the  officer,  from  whom  war  and  starvation 
had  not  dried  up  all  Andalusian  humor. 
"  Snails  !  But  I  thought  she  was  to  capture 
us!  March  I" 

IV. 

General  Rodil  pushed  back  his  chair  from 
the  table,  and  his  grave  face  took  on  a  puz 
zled  look  as  the  officer  and  his  odd  prison 
ers  were  ushered  into  the  room.  "  The  gen 
eral  who  never  sleeps,"  they  called  him — for 
at  whatever  hour  of  day  or  night,  he  was 
always  appearing  suddenly  here,  there, 
everywhere.  Well  masked  was  the  faint 
heart  into  whose  depths  those  gray  eyes 
did  not  bore;  tiny  indeed  the  slackness 
that  escaped  them.  Well  might  the  ignor 
ant  invest  him  with  a  superstitious  terror 
—  this  man  who  was  really  the  garrison  of 
Callao. 

"  Que  cosa  ?  "  he  demanded  in  a  low,  clear 
voice. 

"  Pues,  senor  generdl"  said  the  officer, 
still  standing  at  "  salute."  "  This  boy  we 
found  in  the  Street  of  the  Pelicans,  as  if 
waiting  for  some  one.  And  when  we 
searched  him  this  was  in  his  shirt." 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        231 

Rodil  uncrumpled  the  paper  and  bent  to 
read  it  by  the  flickering-  candle.  Suddenly 
his  haggard  face  turned  even  paler,  and 
then  a  dark  flush  rose  as  he  sprang-  to 
his  feet  and  took  two  steps  forward.  As 
suddenly  he  stopped,  and  threw  at  the 
children  a  glance  that  seemed  fairly  to 
burn  them. 

"  Are  there  none  but  traitors?  "  he  cried, 
with  a  choke.  "  Even  to  the  babies  I  And 
now,  my  Ponce  de  Leon!"  for  the  smug-- 
gled  note  read : 

"  Todo  listo.  No  mas  se  espera  al  coman- 
dante  rubio.  Arregla  todo  de  San  Rafael" 

[All  ready.  Only  waiting  the  blonde 
commander.  Fix  everything  in  the  castle 
of  San  Rafael.] 

The  "blonde  commander  "  could  be  none 
other  than  Rodil's  dear  friend  and  trusted 
officer,  in  charge  of  one  of  the  twin  castles 
—  a  man  whom  he  had  "  made  "  in  rank  and 
fortune.  The  general's  face  seemed  of  stone 
as  he  demanded: 

"  Boy !     From  where  is  this  letter?  " 

"  Vuesencia,  I  picked  it  up  from  a  fraile 
who  fell  over  us  in  the  street;  and  because 
he  had  been  rough  to  my  little  sister,  I  fol 
lowed  to  see  where  he  would  go." 

"  Carefully !  For  when  it  is  between  the 
king's  honor  and  traitors,  even  youth  counts 


232        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

not!     What  should  a  fraile  be  doing-  with 
letters  of  the  insurgents?  " 

"For  that,  I  think  he  was  no  fraile,"  an 
swered  Vicente  sturdily,  holding  his  head 
erect,  though  his  knees  wavered;  and  he 
told  all  the  happenings  of  the  evening, 
while  Lina  nodded  an  earnest  corrobora- 
tion.  Before  he  was  done,  something  of 
the  hardness  had  faded  from  Rodil's  face. 

"  Your  ctienta  runs  well,'*  he  said  at  last. 
"  Give  me  proof  and  I  will  fill  your  hat  with 
gold.  But  if  not  —  if  you  are  old  enough  to 
be  a  traitor,  you  are  old  enough  to  die  one !  " 

Vicente's  ragged  shoulders  squared  still 
straighter.  "  When  I  ask  you  for  money, 
senor  general!  "  he  replied  proudly.  "  We 
are  of  Spain,  and  for  that  I  do  it.  He  that 
made  as  priest  went  not  to  the  convento, 
but  into  the  house  74,Street  of  the  Viceroy." 

"  Hola  I  Senor  teniente,  take  twenty  men 
in  the  instant  and  round-up  that  house, 
bringing  hither  all  that  are  in  it ;  and  that 
everything  be  searched.  And  send  the 
teniente  Ochoa  with  another  file  to  bring 
hither  prisoner  the  Comandante  Ponce  de 
Leon.  Corriendo  !  " 

For  twenty  minutes  uthe  sleepless  gen 
eral  "  walked  the  room  —  sometimes  ap 
parently  unconscious  of  the  children,  and 
suddenly  flinging  at  them  some  question, 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        233 

sharp  and  searching  as  a  javelin.     Then 
there  were  reluctant  feet  upon  the  stairs. 

"It  has  to  report,  yourExcellency,"  said 
Lieutenant  Ochoa,  "that  the  Senor  Coman- 
dante  Ponce  de  Leon  is  not  to  be  found. 
Since  the  first  dusk  no  one  has  seen  him." 

Rodil  struck  his  forehead ;  but  before  he 
seemed  able  to  command  his  voice,  there 
was  another  commotion  outside,  and  a  group 
of  officers  bustled  into  the  room. 

"  What  is  this,  mi  general?  "  cried  one  of 
them  angrily.  "  Here  we  are  dragged  from 
the  house  like  criminals  I  What  means  this 
rat-catcher  of  a  lieutenant?" 

"Little  by  little,  gentlemen  minel"  an 
swered  Rodil  in  a  suspiciously  quiet  tone. 
"  You  will  excuse  the  molestation  for  my 
sake,  since  I  ordered  it.  And  now,  I  beg 
you,  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  of  a  fraile 
who  entered  your  house  half  an  hour  ago." 

"Fraile,  senor  general?  No  priest  has 
entered  the  house,"  answered  the  first 
speaker,  sharply.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome 
officer,  upon  whom  even  the  shabbiness  of  a 
uniform  that  had  seen  twenty-one  months' 
fighting  sat  becomingly.  "I  think  your 
Excellency  might  have  asked  the  question 
with  less  violence  to  us." 

"Ill  it  fits  me  to  show  discourtesy  to 
such  loyal  gentlemen,"  Rodil  replied,  with 


234        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

an  added  dryness.  "  And  I  am  glad  to  learn 
that  no  priest  has  been  among-  you — for  I 
fancied,  my  Senor  Captain  Baca,  that  he 
might  be  converting  you  to  the  brother 
hood.  You  would  half  pass  for  a  fraile 
yourself,  now  that  I  see  " — and  in  spite  of 
himself  the  general's  voice  rose  ever  so 
little — "  the  moustache  which  was  the  pride 
of  the  company  is  shorn  off  since  midday." 

" Pues  —  your  Excellency,"  stammered 
the  tall  captain.  "For  the  heat  —  and  — 
and  —  since  time  hangs  heavily  on  our 
hands,  I  shaved  for  a  joke." 

"Well  edged  is  thy  humor,  captain 
mine  I "  The  ironic  respect  had  given 
place  to  the  contemptuous  tu.  "  Ojala  we 
had  earlier  guessed  thy  wit,  to  ease  the 
weariness  of  the  siege.  Tell  me,  boy — is 
this  thy  fraile?"  The  question  came  like 
a  bullet. 

"I  know  not,  Excellency,"  said  Vicente, 
hesitatingly.  "  Of  that  size  he  was,  but  his 
face  I  saw  not  well." 

"But  it  is  his  voice!"  cried  Lina  impetu 
ously.  "And  had  he  the  hood,  I  would 
know  if  it  is  his  face  —  for  the  capucho 
covered  him  well." 

"Little  animals  1"  growled  the  captain, 
starting  as  if  to  spring  at  them.  But  then, 
commanding  himself,  he  said  sullenly:  "Un- 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        235 

til  what  will  your  Excellency  carry  this 
farce?  Am  I  to  be  burlado  by  lying-  brats 
of  the  street?  With  these  gentlemen  I 
have  passed  the  time  since  I  came  off  duty." 

"It  is  true,  seiior  general,"  declared  the 
others,  who  had  nervously  watched  their 
spokesman,  the  ranking1  officer  among-  them. 
"  We  have  all  been  tog-ether  since " 

"Alto!"  interrupted Rodil  sternly.  "You 
must  bring-  me  better  witnesses  than  your 
tong-ues.  For  by  my  faith,  I  would  see  this 
joke  of  the  moustache  played  throug-h.  Sar- 
gento,  search  this  captain  of  the  wits." 

"For  pity,  mi  general!  Shame  me  not 
thus!"  And  the  officer  fell  on  his  knees. 

For  answer,  Rodil  only  stretched  his 
lean  finger  grimly.  The  serg-eant,  awk 
ward  at  disrespectful  approach  to  his  su 
perior,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the 
risen  captain,  and  in  another  moment  lay 
sprawling-  upon  the  floor.  Baca  was  a  young 
and  muscular  man;  and  almost  in  the  same 
motion  with  the  blow  he  sprang-  at  the  win 
dow. 

The  dumbfounded  privates  had  no  time 
to  reach  him ;  but  Vicente,  in  a  flash  of  rage, 
flung-  himself  at  his  legs,  and  the  tall  officer 
crashed  upon  the  floor.  Before  he  could 
rise  a  dozen  soldiers  were  upon  him,  and 


236        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

Rodil,  his  slender  sword  quivering  at  half- 
arm,  faced  the  four  other  officers. 

"There  is  nothing-  in  his  pockets,  Excel 
lency,"  announced  the  sergeant. 

"Claro  I  For  he  who  changes  his  face  so 
soon  can  as  well  change  his  clothing-.  In 
his  shoes,  then.'* 

There  was  a  renewed  scuffle;  but  in  a 
moment  a  cry  of  exultation — and  the  ser 
g-eant  drag-g-ed  a  thin,  soiled  paper  from 
Baca's  stocking-. 

"Still  given  to  jests,  capitan  mio — that 
you  walk  on  the  mines  which  are  to  blow 
the  rebels  up  at  the  next  assault.  It  is  a 
clever  diagram,  and  Salom  would  have  paid 
thee  well  for  it,  I  warrant.  Hola  I " 

For  the  door  let  in  four  soldiers  and  their 
petty  officer;  and  over  the  arm  of  the  latter 
hung  the  long  gray-brown  habit  of  a  Fran 
ciscan  friar. 

"It  was  between  the  mattresses  of  the 
seiior  capitan  Baca,"  announced  the  ser 
geant.  "And  as  for  these  little  ones,  I  am 
their  witness  —  for  to  my  patrol  passed  first 
a  tall  fraile,  and  soon  came  running  this 
womanling  after  him  for  her  brother,  who 
was  very  sick." 

"And  the  boy  is  he  to  whom  I  carried  a 
cup  of  broth  —  and  I  found  him  well  fe 
vered,  "spoke  up  one  of  the  soldiers,  scared 


The  Habit  of  the  Fraile.        237 

at  his  own  thick  voice  before  the  grim  gen 
eral. 

"It  is  enough,"  interrupted  Rodil.  "I 
give  thanks  to  God  that  there  are  patriots 
yet  —  and  eyes  in  them,  too.  These  chil 
dren  stay  with  me.  For  the  Senor  Captain 
Baca,  and  for  these  gentlemen  who  'were 
with  him  all  the  time,'  "  he  continued  with 
grim  terseness,  "sunrise  against  the  wall 
of  San  Felipe.  Until  then,  your  heads  an 
swer  for  theirs! " 

That  is  all  there  is  to  tell  of  the  habit  of 
the  fraile  —  except  that  it  served  for  a 
shroud  to  the  traitor  who  had  masqueraded 
in  it. 

But  already  was  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
The  desertion  of  the  Comandante  Ponce  de 
Leon,  who  had  dropped  over  the  wall  and 
fled  to  the  enemy,  gave  to  the  insurgents 
plans  and  information  of  fatal  importance. 
Then  Riera,  the  other  comandante,  turned 
traitor  too,  and  delivered  to  the  foe  the 
castle  of  San  Rafael. 

Resistance  was  no  longer  possible,  even 
to  "  the  Spartan  of  Peru."  On  the  llth  of 
January  he  entered  into  correspondence 
which  ended  with  the  honorable  and  advan 
tageous  capitulation  of  Callao,  January  23, 
1826.  Of  the  original  2,800  soldiers  only 


238        The  Habit  of  the  Fraile. 

three  hundred  and  seventy-six  remained, 
and  a  scant  seven  hundred  citizens  of  all 
the  former  thousands.  There  was  little 
left  save  glory  —  but  of  that  so  proud  a 
share  as  was  earned  by  no  other  man  of 
either  side  in  the  war  of  the  colonial  re 
bellion.  For  that  matter,  history  has  few 
pages  like  the  resistance  of  Spain's  last  fort 
in  America. 

When  Rodil,  in  full  uniform,  boarded  the 
English  frigate  "Briton"  to  sail  away  to 
the  long  years  and  high  honors  that  awaited 
him  in  Spain,  he  carried  with  the  banners 
of  his  favorite  regiments  a  boy  and  girl 
who  seemed  less  embarrassed  by  their  fine 
new  dress  than  by  the  attention  which 
everywhere  greeted  "  the  little  orphans  of 
Callao." 


The  Great  Magician 


The  Great  Magician. 

REALLY  know  one?  Well,  I  should 
say  so — better  than  I  know  any  one 
else  alive.  No,  it  was  not  Herrmann,  nor 
Signer  Blitz  before  him;  though  each  in 
turn  seemed  to  my  young  eyes  the  most 
marvelous  conjurer  possible,  and  the  latter 
remained  for  years  a  haunting  wonder.  But 
I  was  already  getting  acquainted  with  a 
magician  to  whom  both  of  these  put  to 
gether  were  a  fool.  For  that  matter,  we 
had  always  been  neighbors ;  but  for  years 
I  never  really  knew  him  well,  nor  was  even 
aware  that  he  was  in  the  conjuring  business 
at  all.  Had  we  boys  realized  that  we  were 
growing  up  next  door  to  the  greatest  living 
prestidigitator,  he  doubtless  would  have 
got  a  little  more  attention  from  us;  but  he 
was  very  quiet,  and  not  at  all  given  to 
"showing  off;"  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  we 
left  him  pretty  much  to  himself.  Even  in 
our  games  he  was  hardly  ever  asked  to  take 
part;  though  I  can  see  now  where  he  could 

241 


242  The  Great  Magician. 

have  given  us  a  good  many  points  on  three- 
old-cat  and  follow-my-leader,  or  any  of  our 
other  sports.  It  makes  one  feel  cheap  to 
find  that  one  has  been  living-  so  long-  next 
door  to  such  a  genius  without  ever  getting 
on  intimate  terms  with  him,  or  fairly  dis 
covering  who  he  is.  It  was  not  his  fault, 
either,  for  there  was  never  anything  stuck 
up  about  him,  despite  his  wonderful  gifts. 
With  some  people,  it  is  true,  he  never  was 
known  to  associate;  but  that  was  merely 
because  he  did  not  push  himself.  To  any 
one  who  gave  him  to  understand  that  his 
company  was  agreeable  he  was  always  cor 
dial.  That  I  call  downright  obliging  in  one 
who  has  got  so  high  up  in  the  world  —  for 
he  is  known  and  respected  everywhere,  and 
has  been  invited  to  appear  before  kings  and 
queens  when  even  their  prime  ministers 
were  shut  out.  You  see,  he  has  been  a 
great  traveler.  Perhaps  there  is  not  a 
place  in  the  whole  world  that  he  does  not 
know.  But,  then,  it 's  easy  to  travel  when 
one  has  plenty  of  means  and  leisure,  and  a 
free  pass  everywhere.  Possibly  he  would 
not  get  around  quite  so  much  if  he  had  to 
pay  fare. 

Though  it  took  us  so  long  to  get  ac 
quainted,  we  rather  "  cottoned  to  "  one  an 
other  after  the  ice  was  broken,  and  for  the 


The  Great  Magician.  243 

last  twenty  years  have  been  great  chums. 
In  that  time  we  have  knocked  about  the 
world  a  good  bit  tog-ether.  Really,  I  mean, 
not  like  our  first  travel.  In  the  younger 
days  he  used  to  drop  in  on  me  every  now 
and  then  with  a  serious  air,  and  remark: 

4 'Say,  want  to  go  to  Shanghai  this  even 
ing?  Well,  shut  your  eyes.  Presto  ! 
change  !  here  we  are  I  Now,  come  around, 
and  we  '11  see  the  sights." 

And  there  we  were  in  Shanghai,  using 
our  eyes  and  holding  our  noses.  But  all 
that,  you  understand,  was  one  of  his  sleight- 
of-hand  tricks.  It  was  very  pleasant  and 
inexpensive  travel,  and  I  learned  a  good 
deal  from  it;  but  the  grind  of  it  was  that  I 
could  not  bring  back  any  of  the  wonderful 
things  we  saw  in  the  bazars.  I  M  just  about 
as  soon  not  travel  as  to  be  unable  to  col 
lect  trophies  from  the  country  I  am  visit 
ing.  It  was  really  not  his  fault,  of  course. 
He  is  the  most  accommodating  fellow  in  the 
world ;  but  even  jugglery  has  its  limits ; 
and  after  a  friend  has  given  you  a  trip  to 
any  part  of  the  world  you  choose,  and 
brought  you  back  safe  and  sound,  and  paid 
all  your  expenses  out  of  his  own  pocket, 
no  well  bred  guest  could  have  the  face  to 
ask  him  to  bring  also  a  cargo  of  all  sorts  of 
truck.  When  I  used  to  groan  at  coming 


244  The  Great  Magician. 

away  empty-handed,  he  would  say  frankly: 
"Sorry  my  boy,  but  it  really  can't  be 
helped.  I  'm  glad  to  take  you  anywhere, 
and  make  it  as  pleasant  for  you  as  I  can; 
but  my  pass  is  for  passengers  only,  and  the 
baggage  business  is  strictly  prohibited.  It 
is  too  bulky;  and  then  think  what  trouble 
I  should  get  into  with  the  customs  officers 
if  we  went  to  bringing  in  such  cargoes  out 
side  the  regular  channels." 

In  later  years  we  have  pretty  thoroughly 
made  up  for  that  aggravation ;  for  nowa 
days  I  am  the  host,  and  wouldn't  think  of 
starting  on  a  journey  without  inviting  him 
to  come  along ;  and  we  bring  back  all  sorts 
of  interesting  plunder  from  everywhere, 
until  the  house  we  occupy  together  looks 
more  like  a  museum  than  anything  else. 
He  himself  admits  that  it 's  a  good  deal 
ahead  of  the  old  way ;  but  even  the  delight 
of  collecting  —  and  no  boy  or  man  half 
knows  what  life  is  until  he  "collects"  some 
thing,  and  earnestly  —  even  that  pleasure 
would  not  compensate  me  for  the  loss  of 
his  company.  He  is  the  very  best  travel 
ing  companion  I  ever  found ;  so  ready  to  do 
whatever  you  wish,  so  full  of  information, 
so  helpful  in  emergencies  of  any  sort. 
Some  people  who  have  traveled  with  him 
have  tried  to  tell  me  that  he  cowardly  de* 


The  Great  Magician.  245 

serted  them  in  time  of  danger ;  but  there 
must  be  two  sides  to  this  story,  for  I  have 
seen  him  in  a  great  many  tight  pinches,  and 
he  was  clear-headed  and  quick  as  a  wink  to 
do  the  right  thing-.  To  tell  the  truth,  he 
has  saved  my  life  a  score  of  times,  all  by 
his  dexterity ;  so  you  may  be  sure  that 
when  people  talk  of  his  running-  away  and 
leaving  them  in  the  lurch,  I  resent  the  impu 
tation,  and  conclude  they  were  the  ones 
really  to  blame.  In  knocking  about  the 
frontiers  I  have  found  a  good  many  men,  of 
several  different  colors,  who  make  you  feel, 
"Well,  if  it  came  to  a  fight  for  life,  with  my 
back  against  a  rock,  that  would  be  a  good 
fellow  to  have  beside  me."  But  among  all 
those  brave  men — all  of  whom  I  admire, 
and  some  of  whom  I  love — I  would  rather 
have  him  by  me,  in  a  pinch,  than  any  other 
one. 

You  must  not  think  from  this  that  my 
friend  is  a  desperado,  or  a  professional 
fighter,  or  anything  of  the  sort.  On  the 
contrary,  his  disposition  is  as  peaceful  as 
his  habits  are  quiet,  and  he  hates  any  sort 
of  a  row.  It  is  only  in  the  crises  which  any 
man  may  meet,  and  every  man  must  some 
times  meet  who  travels  outside  the  beaten 
tracks,  when  it  is  necessary  and  manful  to 
fight,  that  he  suddenly  turns  combative  and 


246  The  Great  Magician. 

pitches  in.  Ordinarily,  he  is  a  plain,  prac 
tical  business  man,  who,  for  his  own  part, 
might  have  retired  long-  ago,  but  remains 
in  the  firm  for  the  sake  of  the  junior  part 
ners.  He  works  harder  than  any  of  them 
—  and  then,  when  business  hours  are  over, 
diverts  himself  and  his  friends  by  little  ex 
hibitions  of  his  matchless  skill  as  a  con 
jurer.  At  such  times  he  likes  to  forg-et 
work  and  worry  altogether,  and  to  be  jolly 
and  free  of  care  and  full  of  pranks  as  a  boy. 
I  have  seen  people  so  inconsiderate  as  to 
insist  on  boring-  him  by  u  talking-  shop  "  out 
of  office  hours,  but  he  always  resents  it. 
He  is  rather  nervous  and  very  impression 
able,  apt  to  fall  into  the  mood  of  those  who 
are  with  him;  and  he  sometimes  g-ets  so 
tired  and  confused  as  to  show  very  little  of 
his  usual  wisdom.  Indeed,  I  have  seen  him, 
when  very  weary,  make  a  flat  failure  of 
some  trick  at  magic,  which  ordinarily  he 
could  do  with  astounding-  cleverness. 

Undoubtedly  his  greatest  claim  to  public 
respect  is  in  the  quiet,  every-day  wisdom 
of  his  practical  career ;  but  his  g-if ts  as  a 
magician  are  so  brilliant  and  so  fascinating- 
that  one  naturally  thinks  of  them  first. 
And,  in  spite  of  his  long-  business  training-, 
there  isn't  a  mercenary  streak  in  him. 
Some  of  his  most  wonderful  performances 


The  Great  Magician.  247 

are  given  gratis,  and  he  even  seems  to  pre 
fer  an  audience  of  one  to  what  the  managers 
would  call  "a  paying  house." 

Eh?  You  would  like  to  know  what  he 
can  do  that  is  so  much  bigger  than  the  tricks 
of  the  wizards  that  get  their  $200  a  night? 
Well,  if  I  were  to  tell  you  all  I've  seen  him 
do,  we  wouldn't  be  done  this  side  of  1900; 
but  here  are  some  few  things,  and  if  you  do 
not  admit  that  Herrmann  and  all  the  rest 
are  mere  greenhorns  to  him,  I  '11  agree 
never  to  go  near  another  of  his  perform 
ances. 

I  never  knew  him  to  fry  eggs  in  a  stove 
pipe  hat,  nor  to  pick  twenty-dollar  gold 
pieces  out  of  people's  eyes,  nor  to  chop  off 
a  man's  head  and  then  stick  it  on  again,  nor 
any  of  those  threadbare  sensations,  though 
he  sometimes  practices  simple  illusions  like 
making  things  appear  where  they  are  not, 
or  causing  them  to  seem  not  to  be  where 
you  really  know  they  are.  But  those  are 
trifles,  just  to  keep  his  hand  in;  his  claim 
as  champion  conjurer  of  the  world  rests  on 
very  different  accomplishments.  For  in 
stance,  one  of  his  favorite  tricks  is  to 
take  a  careless  fly-away  boy  and  turn  him 
into  a  strong,  wise  man  —  turn  him  "for 
keeps,"  too.  I  Ve  seen  him  do  that  a  hun 
dred  times,  and  you  will  agree  that  that  is 


248  The  Great  Magician. 

a  very  useful  trick,  as  well  as  a  very  diffi 
cult  one.  When  one  sees  how  smoothly  he 
does  it,  one  is  doubly  sorry  that  he  doesn't 
get  all  the  boys  up  on  the  stage  and  experi 
ment  on  them;  but,  of  course,  a  complete 
change  of  personality  is  a  serious  thing, 
and  he  would  not  be  justified  in  taking-  any 
such  liberties  without  the  full  consent  of 
the  subject. 

An  almost  equally  remarkable  trick,  and 
one  he  is  equally  fond  of,  is  to  take  a  thor 
oughly  homely  girl  and  put  a  brand-new 
face  on  her.  Not  exactly  a  beautiful  face, 
for  he  says  that  is  none  of  his  business,  but 
a  face  that  every  one  likes  to  look  at.  Yet 
I  know  girls  so  foolish  as  to  decline  treat 
ment  by  this  great  specialist,  and  to  think 
cosmetics  better. 

My  friend's  hobby  for  experimenting 
upon  young  people,  and  his  innate  fondness 
for  them,  as  shown  by  his  patience  with  their 
frequently  slighting  treatment  of  him,  made 
me  remark  one  evening:  " How  is  it  you 
are  so  good-natured  with  these  rattleheads  ? 
Nobody  else  would  have  the  patience.  Even 
when  a  fellow  has  snubbed  you  in  the  most 
discourteous  way  you  seem  to  bear  no 
grudge,  but  to  be  always  ready  to  do  him  a 
good  turn  if  there  is  a  chance." 

"  Well,"  said  my  friend,  slowly,  dropping 


The  Great  Magician.  249 

a  new  sleight-of-hand  he  was  practicing-, 
"you  see,  I  was  once  young-  and  a  fool  my 
self,  and  had  to  grow  and  develop  ;  and  the 
process  was  so  tedious  that  I  'm  not  apt  to 
forget.  And,  somehow,  I  feel  as  if  I  should 
always  keep  young  in  spite  of  the  years. 
There  is  always  something  to  interest  me, 
and  that  keeps  me  from  growing  old." 

"By  the  way,"  I  put  in,  "when  did  you 
begin  conjuring?  Such  marvelous  profi 
ciency  as  yours  can  have  been  attained  only 
by  lifelong  practice.  Did  you  take  it  up 
deliberately,  or  drift  into  it  by  chance?" 

My  friend  gazed  soberly  for  a  moment  at 
the  crackling  cedar  sticks  in  my  adobe  fire 
place —  he  had  come  out  to  visit  me  in  New 
Mexico  —  before  replying. 

"Do  you  know,  this  reminds  me  very 
strongly  of  my  own  early  life.  These  In 
dians  who  are  your  neighbors,  this  simple 
way  of  life,  recall  old  times.  You  might 
not  believe  it,  but  my  own  folks  were  nomad 
savages,  and  my  infancy  was  passed  among 
scenes  compared  to  which  your  surround 
ings  here  are  highly  civilized.  Yes,  I  don't 
wonder  you  are  astonished  ;  in  sober  earn 
est,  you  cannot  imagine  how  brutal  and 
squalid  were  the  surroundings.  Nothing  to 
wear,  very  little  to  eat,  and  that  little  al 
ways  raw;  in  fact,  not  one  of  the  conven- 


250  The  Great  Magician. 

iences  which  even  an  Indian  now  deems 
necessary  to  his  existence.  Why,  we  hadn't 
even  a  way  to  warm  ourselves ;  and  as  for 
houses  or  clothing-,  they  were  quite  un 
known.  Education?  Not  a  bit  more  than 
the  monkeys  have.  I  was  nearly  a  grown 
man  before  I  learned  to  read  and  write." 

"Why,  you  have  risen  even  further  than 
from  rail  splitter  to  president !  " 

"  Ah,  Lincoln  g-ot  ashig-h  as  man  cang-et. 
We  were  very  dear  friends,  and  I  believe  I 
helped  him  materially  in  the  great  crises 
throug-h  which  he  was  called  upon  to  lead 
the  nation.  At  any  rate,  he  always  con 
sulted  me  before  taking-  any  important 
step." 

Now  in  any  one  else,  this  would  have 
seemed  the  end  of  impudence  and  mendac 
ity,  if  not  half  blasphemy.  But  when  my 
friend  the  magician  said  it,  I  knew  it  must 
be  true.  He  went  on  in  his  quiet  way: 

"But  we  were  talking-  of  my  youth.  You 
asked  how  and  when  I  first  took  up  conjur 
ing-.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  can  hardly  remem 
ber.  I  was  certainly  very  young-,  and  the 
discovery  of  my  powers  was  quite  acci 
dental.  One  of  my  first  tricks  was  very 
simple;  but  perhaps  it  was  most  important 
of  all.  It  lifted  my  people  from  a  lower 
plane  than  any  savag-e  now  occupies,  to  high 


The  Great  Magician.  251 

civilization.  Every  person  every  day  uses 
that  little  invention  of  mine  —  and  99  per 
cent  of  them  without  stopping-  to  thank  the 
inventor.  By  simply  taking-  two  sticks  and 
rubbing-  them  together  —  this  way  —  I  pro 
duced  a  substance  which  had  never  been 
seen  on  earth  before,  but  which  is  now  the 
first  absolute  necessity  in  every  household. 
If  it  were  abolished,  the  world's  progress 
would  stop.  It 's  a  very  curious  substance. 
The  materials  of  which  it  is  composed  are 
invisible  and  intangible ;  but  it  can  be  seen 
further  and  felt  more  than  anything-  else  in 
the  world.  You  can't  touch  it;  and  yet, 
here,  if  you  could  not  sometimes  almost 
touch  it  you  would  perish.  You  have  to 
feed  it  as  carefully  as  you  would  a  horse,  and 
much  of tener ;  and,  unlike  any  other  laborer 
I  know  of,  it  will  never  work  between  meals. 
But  while  it  eats,  it  will  work  like  mad. 
Another  queer  thing-  about  it  is  that  it  would 
live  forever  if  you  fed  it  forever;  but  it  dies 
as  soon  as  it  stops  eating-.  But  you  can 
bring-  it  to  life  again  in  a  minute,  strong-  and 
active  as  ever.  It  is  terribly  mischievous, 
too;  if  you  give  it  proper  attention,  it  cuts 
upno  pranks;  but  if  you  are  careless,  itsome- 
times  sneaks  off  and  does  more  damag-e  in 
one  short  romp  than  a  hundred  men  could 
replace  by  a  lifetime 's  earning-s.  Then  it 's 


252  The  Great  Magician. 

curious  what  a  hatred  it  has  for  a  still  com 
moner  substance  which  I  didtft  invent. 
Bring-  the  two  together  and  there  is  a  noisy 
and  desperate  fight,  and  one  or  other  of  the 
combatants  is  annihilated.  Yet  if  you  place 
them  just  near  enough  to  each  other,  but 
so  confined  that  they  cannot  grapple,  they 
work  together  with  an  energy  which  I 
saw  move  a  hundred  buildings  once  — 
each  building  over  thirty  feet  long.  Ah, 
you  wonder  more  at  some  of  my  other 
tricks,  probably  because  you  are  less  famil 
iar  with  them;  but  I  tell  you  that  is  just 
about  the  biggest  single  thing  I  ever  did. 
There  would  have  been  neither  geography 
nor  history;  we  should  never  have  heard  of 
Caesar  or  Napoleon  or  Washington  or  much 
of  anybody  else,  if  I  hadn't  stumbled  on 
that  little  secret  of  rubbing  the  sticks,  while 
I  was  still  what  you  might  well  call  a  green, 
awkward  boy." 

"Yes,"  I  admitted,  "I  guess,  after  all, 
your  fire  trick  is  about  the  greatest  thing 
of  all  —  though  I  hadn't  just  looked  at  it  in 
that  light  before.  Really,  about  every  sin 
gle  thing  we  depend  on  depends  on  that. 
And  that  was  about  your  first  turn  in 
magic?" 

"  Ye-es,  perhaps  the  first  important  one. 
It  was  a  great  start,  too,  for  after  that  I  ad- 


The  Great  Magician.  253 

vanced  pretty  rapidly  in  proficiency,  until  I 
became,  as  you  know,  able  to  do  pretty 
nearly  whatever  I  try." 

That  is  not  putting-  it  too  strongly  —  he 
can  do  almost  anything-  he  seriously  turns 
his  hand  to.  After  what  I  have  seen  him 
accomplish,  there  are  few  things  I  would 
deem  it  hopeless  for  him  to  attempt.  Our 
stage  magicians  are  at  their  wits'  end  to 
devise  some  new  trick;  but  he  invents  a 
thousand  a  day  —  the  poorest  more  wonder 
ful  than  their  masterpiece.  Now  there  's 
his  own  life  preserver,  for  instance  —  a  ridi 
culous  little  affair  in  something  like  thirty 
pieces;  the  simplest  thing,  yet  of  almost 
infinite  uses.  It  is,  among  many  other  re 
markable  qualities,  the  greatest  preserva 
tive  known.  An  article  so  ephemeral  that 
a  breath  of  air  would  whisk  it  away,  so 
perishable  that  not  all  the  Arctic  ice  could 
save  it,  can  by  this  means  be  kept  a  thou 
sand  years  —  aye,  or  ten  thousand,  for  that 
matter  —  as  good  as  new.  Yes,  a  man's 
very  speech  may  become  visible  and  eter 
nal —  all  because  my  friend  once  did  a  little 
conjuring  for  a  Greek,  who  raised  most  re 
markable  harvests  from  seed  our  florists 
never  handle.  I  don't  know  just  where  it 
does  come  from  nowadays  —  for  we  still  see 
that  sort  of  crop  once  in  a  while.  Perhaps 


254       -    The  Great  Magician. 

Cadmus  himself  was  a  politician,  and  the 
dragon's  teeth  are  an  heirloom  in  the  family. 

Those  early  conjurings  are  not  more 
astounding-  than  the  new  ones  he  is  con 
stantly  devising1.  Nowadays  he  can  sit 
down  in  Washington  or  London  or  Berlin, 
and,  by  a  few  taps  on  a  table,  turn  a  million 
men  into  a  machine  for  destruction.  He 
will  take  your  ear  in  New  York  and  hold  it 
to  the  lips  of  your  friend  in  Chicago,  and 
then  make  it  as  easy  for  the  Chicagoan  to 
hear  what  you  say  in  reply.  Your  voice, 
which,  so  far  as  any  ability  of  yours  goes,  is 
lost  forever  as  soon  as  spilled,  he  can  bottle 
up  so  perfectly  that  your  great-grandchil 
dren's  great-grandchildren  shall  listen  to 
what  you  said  two  hundred  years  before 
they  were  born,  and  hear  it  in  your  very 
tones.  You  see,  my  friend  is  making  life  a 
good  deal  larger,  and  death  a  good  deal 
smaller  —  and  he  is  not  done  yet! 

But  I  should  be.  There  is  simply  no  use 
trying  to  enumerate  his  magic,  for  it  has  no 
end.  Besides,  you  can  get  a  much  better 
notion  of  his  powers  by  watching  him  than 
thus  at  second  hand  from  me.  But  how  are 
you  going  to  find  him,  when  he  doesn't  ad 
vertise?  Why,  of  course!  How  stupid  of 
me  to  have  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  his 
name  is  —  Thought. 


The  Silver  Omelet 


THE    PATIO    PROCESS    AT    GUANAJUATO 


The  Silver  Omelet. 


F~\  OUBTLESS  you  should  not  be  blamed 
J  _  )  for  a  sniff  of  incredulity  when  I  come 
to  mention  the  size  of  it,  though  you  cer 
tainly  have  not  made  as  many  omelets  as  I 
did  in  the  years  of  keeping-  house  on  the 
frontier  "  all  by  my  lonesome,"  and  though 
you  probably  could  not  turn  one  now  by 
napping  it  to  within  six  inches  of  the  ceiling 
and  catching  it,  t'other  side  up,  in  the  fry 
ing  pan,  as  every  fit  frontiersman  should. 
But  blink  as  you  will,  it  is  a  solemn  truth 
that  we  are  now  sitting  down  to  an  omelet 
two  feet  and  a  half  thick  and  a  little  matter 
of  one  hundred  and  ten  feet  across!  And 
worth  more  than  all  the  food  your  whole 
household  could  eat  in  a  generation. 

The  worst  of  it  was  that  the  chef  was 
away.  Don  Ygnacio,  who  had  served  up 
these  gigantic  dishes  for  thirty  years,  and 
had  the  knack  of  them,  was  to-day  in  Do 
lores;  and  in  charge  of  the  range  was  a 

257 


258  The  Silver  Omelet. 

fuzzy-faced  lad  of  eighteen  who  had  never 
turned  a  Guanajuato  omelet  in  his  life. 

Guanajuato,  you  must  know,  is  one  of  the 
oldest  and  richest  silver-mining1  districts  in 
the  world.  Founded  over  three  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago,  this  picturesque  Mexican 
city  has  produced  more  than  a  billion  dollars 
in  bullion,  and  not  tired  yet.  In  1527  a  Span 
ish  miner  invented  in  Mexico  the  cheapest 
and  simplest  method  yet  known  for  reduc 
ing  silver  ores — the  so  called  "patio  process" 
— by  which  the  great  bulk  of  the  silver  of 
Mexico  and  Peru  has  been  extracted  for  so 
many  centuries.  To  this  day  the  haciendas 
for  patio  reduction  are  among  the  most  in 
teresting  features  of  the  great  silver  camps 
of  Spanish  America.  Each  hacienda  is  a  little 
walled  city — with  its  strong  ramparts,  and 
corner  towers  loop-holed  for  muskets;  its 
huge  sheds  for  the  primitive  ore-grinding; 
its  pleasant  offices  and  home  for  the  admin- 
istrador;  its  quarters  for  employes;  its  sta 
bles  for  hundreds  of  mules;  and  its  enor 
mous  stone  skillets  wherein  the  hugest 
omelets  in  the  world  are  "cooked." 

Torta  in  Spanish  America  is  the  usual 
word  for  omelet.  It  is  literally  a  "cake," 
and  "of  eggs"  is  implied.  But  the  miners 
use  it  specifically  for  the  omelet  of  wet- 
ground  ore  seasoned  with  the  necessary 


The  Silver  Omelet.  259 

chemicals  to  assemble  the  silver.  In  looks 
it  is  simply  a  stupendous  mud  pie. 

In  the  hacienda  of  the  Cypresses  one  of 
these  omelets  was  even  now  cooking.  Pa 
tient  burro  caravans  had  packed  down  from 
the  wonderful  old  bonanza  mine  of  the  Valen- 
ciana  enough  cargas  of  that  broken  gray 
rock  to  make  forty-six  "heaps"  of  3200 
pounds  each.  The  ore  had  been  fed  to  the 
great  trundling  molina,  whose  ponderous, 
upright,  iron-bound  wheel  grudgingly  fol 
lowed  the  straining  mules  round  and  round 
its  pivot,  crunching  the  rock  finer  and  finer, 
till  the  particles  sifted  through  the  screen 
to  the  bins  below.  Thence  it  had  been 
shoveled  into  the  wet-grinding  arrastras — 
thirty  big  stone  tubs,  around  which  the 
mules  circled  with  their  "whims,"  dragging 
granite  blocks  which  scrubbed  the  wet 
gravel  into  fine  paste.  Then  the  mud  went 
to  the  great  cajete  (tank),  where  the  surplus 
water  was  "wept  away,"  as  they  say;  and 
finally  to  the  stone -walled,  stone -paved 
patio,  to  become  a  torta. 

Almost  anyone  with  eyes  could  crush 
rock,  dry  or  wet;  but  when  it  came  to 
sampling  that  precious  mud,  deciding  pre 
cisely  how  much  silver  it  carried  to  the  ton 
and  how  refractory  it  was,  and  therefore 
just  how  much  salt  and  just  how  much 


160  The  Silver  Omelet. 

mercury  must  be  put  in  for  seasoning-,  why, 
then  was  no  time  for  a  greenhorn.  Fifty 
thousand  dollars  is  no  joke,  any  way  you 
look  at  it;  and  when  you  come  to  hunting 
for  $50,000  by  the  invisible  atom  in  a  hun 
dred  and  fifty  tons  of  mud,  it  is  as  serious 
as  anything-  well  can  be. 

But  Don  Yg-nacio  had  had  to  go,  and  with 
four  of  the  trustiest  servants,  all  armed; 
for  in  those  days,  a  generation  ago,  the 
brigands  were  a  fear  on  every  highway  of 
Mexico.  And  there  was  no  one  to  leave  in 
charge  except  Alberto,  his  nephew. 

Luckily  there  had  been  time  to  set  a 
recipe  for  the  torta  just  turned  into  the 
pan.  "So  much  salt  and  so  much  azogue"* 
said  Don  Ygnacio;  "that,  I  think,  will  suit. 
But  watch  it  well;  and  if  not,  season  it  by 
the  formula.  Care,  then,  and  much  luck!" 

Every  day  of  the  seventeen  since  then, 
Alberto  had  paced  the  flagging  by  the  patio, 
and  the  passages  of  the  great  sheds  where 
dry  mill  and  wet  mill  were  chewing1  their 
noisy  mouthfuls  for  a  new  torta,  now  and 
again  turning  his  eye  covertly  to  the  last 
room  on  the  administrador's  porch,  behind 
whose  heavy  door  he  had  heaped  the  forty- 
pound  bars  of  massy  silver  from  the  last 
omelet.  The  washing  and  concentration 

*  Quicksilver. 


The  Silver  Omelet.  261 

and  smelting-  he  had  superintended  without 
much  difficulty,  and  had  seen  that  $49,000 
worth  of  metal  safely  stored. 

So  far  as  the  present  torta  went,  his 
assays  indicated  that  Don  Ygnacio's  hasty 
estimate  had  been  precisely  right.  But  he 
certainly  hoped  the  old  manager  would  be 
back  in  time  to  decide  if  the  usual  eighteen 
days  had  been  enough  "cooking-" — and, 
doubly,  to  fix  the  seasoning-  for  the  next 
omelet.  And  in  all,  it  was  a  heavy  respon 
sibility  for  a  boy  who  had  studied  a 
hundred  tortas,  but  never  been  charged 
with  one  before ;  and  it  was  to  be  noticed 
that  his  shoulders  were  not  quite  so  mirac 
ulously  square  as  on  the  first  day,  nor  his 
chest  so  thick,  now  that  he  came  down  from 
the  arrastras  to  the  patio. 

In  this  quarter-acre  mud  omelet  the  beat 
ing-  and  the  cooking-  went  on  together.  A 
score  of  barelegged  men  and  grown  boys 
waded  thig-h-deep  in  the  mess,  driving-  their 
mules  (blindfolded,  poor  beasts,  to  protect 
their  eyes),  and  holding-  down  the  drag- 
boards,  to  mix  the  mercury  and  its  prey. 

It  was  close  to  noon.  In  five  minutes  the 
wading-  mules  would  be  done  with  their  ex 
hausting-  day's  work  of  six  hours.  Alberto 
walked  down  toward  the  well-tower  beside 
the  patio,  and  something-  drew  his  eyes  to 


262  The  Silver  Omelet. 

an  overgrown  lad  slouching-  behind  one 
white  mule  at  the  edge  of  the  mud.  Poor 
dullard !  It  was  one  thing-  to  wade  in  mud 
at  eighteen  cents  a  day,  and  quite  another 
to  manage  mud  which  was  worth  a  com 
fortable  year's  salary  per  ton. 

"S-s-t!" 

Alberto  started.  Surely  it  could  not  be ! 
Well,  it  was  !  This  perambulating  mudlark 
was  actually  "s-s-t"-ing  to  him! 

"Care!"  whispered  the  Indian  lad,  as 
Alberto  came  alongside  the  stone  curb.  He 
looked  only  at  his  mule,  hauling  at  the  tired 
beast  and  scolding  it  for  some  imaginary 
offence,  and  between  his  objurgations  drop 
ping  whispered  "asides." 

"Am,  ill-said  brute!  (Young  Excellency, 
the  bandits! )  For  how  long  must  I  enshow 
thee  to  walk  well?  (And  some  of  those  in 
the  hacienda  !)  Miserable!  For  what  is  the 
rein?  (They  are  making  to  rob — to-night! ) 
Arre,  lazy-bones!" 

The  stolid  face  had  not  once  changed; 
and  now  that  another  driver  approached, 
he  went  sus-ushing  off  through  the  mud 
with  never  a  sidelong  glance. 

Alberto  felt  himself  grown  suddenly  pale ; 
but  he  was  no  fool.  He  glanced  at  the  in 
truder.  It  was  a  new  man  from  the  country 
—  a  tall,  powerful  fellow  with  a  huge  scar 


The  Silver  Omelet.  263 

on  his  cheek,  shifty  eyes,  and  a  beak  which 
had  already  earned  him  the  nickname  of 
Narigudo — "Big-  Nose."  He  in  turn  sent 
a  sly,  sharp  look  first  at  the  young-  Indian 
ahead,  then  at  the  young-  manag-er.  The 
latter  was  already  walking-  quietly  toward 
the  well-house. 

The  silver  bell  in  the  old  belfry  clanged 
noon.  The  waders,  of  two  legs  and  four, 
clambered  out  from  the  mud.  In  a  moment 
blindfolds  and  harness  lay  on  the  flagging, 
and  the  mules,  suddenly  optimistic,  went 
braying  and  scampering  out  through  the 
great  gate  to  bathe  and  drink  by  the  high 
way  in  the  little  stream  which  has  carried 
more  precious  burdens,  doubtless,  than  any 
other  brook  on  earth.*  A  moment  later 
there  was  a  more  deafening  clatter,  as  the 
hundred  mules  from  the  mills  came  gallop- 
ading  down  the  flags  in  a  very  avalanche. 
They  would  have  to  work  six  hours  more; 
but  they  knew  the  noon  hour.  Resistless 
as  a  charge  of  cavalry,  they  swept  around 
the  corners  and  out  of  the  gate  in  a  jam 
which  seemed  sure  to  kill  some  of  them. 

Alberto  had  laughed  a  thousand  times  at 
this  daily  avalanche ;  but  now  he  saw  it 
with  far-off  eyes.  He  dipped  his  hand  in  a 


*It  is  estimated  that  five  hundred  million  dollars'  worth  of 
silver  and  mercury  have  gone  down  it. 


264  The  Silver  Omelet. 

bucket  of  the  pump-wheel  and  bathed  his 
head,  wherein  a  thousand  or  more  little 
prickles  snapped.  It  was  enough  to  make 
anyone's  brain  crackle — robbers  all  about, 
accomplices  in  the  hacienda  itself,  nearly 
fifty  thousand  dollars  in  the  room  at  the 
head  of  the  corridor,  and  he  alone ! 

This  boy  had  been  carefully  reared.  He 
was  unused  to  danger  and  to  responsibility; 
and  now  he  was  fearfully  scared.  And  yet 
— well,  he  had  inherited  something-  from 
the  men  who  conquered  that  wilderness  so 
many  centuries  ago. 

In  five  minutes  the  young-  administrador 
was  making  his  rounds  as  usual,  now  and 
then  stopping  to  pick  up  a  sample  of  ore 
and  examine  it  with  great  apparent  inter 
est.  Among  the  groups  of  laborers  he 
passed  at  lunch  he  felt,  with  a  little  shiver, 
that  some  eyes  were  on  him  even  more 
sharply  than  they  are  always  on  the  admin 
istrador  s  back;  but  outwardly  he  gave  no 
sign,  as  he  figured  away  at  very  much  the 
toughest  problem  he  had  ever  dreamed  of. 

Suddenly  he  struck  his  head,  and  turned 
and  walked  down  to  the  patio.  In  full  view 
of  the  men  he  took  a  careful  sample  from 
the  mud  omelet  here  and  there,  scrutinized 
it  critically,  and  carried  it  off  to  the  assay- 
room.  In  ten  minutes  he  was  out  again; 


The  Silver  Omelet.  265 

and  walking-  up  among-  the  laborers,  he 
said :  "  A  holiday  for  all,  this  afternoon.  For 
to  me  the  torta  looks  to  be  cooked,  and  Don 
Ygnacio  should  be  here  to-night,  who  will 
know.  Go,  then;  but  at  dawn  ag-ain. " 

That  was  an  end  of  lunch,  of  course. 
The  men  sprang-  up  with  "Infinite  thanks, 
sir !"  and  were  already  making-  for  the  g-ate, 
except  Narig-udo  and  four  others,  who 
mumbled  over  their  last  enchilada,  instead 
of  throwing-  it  away,  and  looked  first  at 
their  mates  and  then  at  one  another. 

"Sefior,  I  do  not  think  it  done,"  broke  out 
"Big  Nose,"  sullenly. 

"Who  g-ave  thee  a  candle  in  this  fu 
neral?"  Alberto  retorted,  coolly.  "An- 
swerest  thou  to  the  owner  whether  there 
be  loss  or  gain?" 

Narig-udo  said  no  more,  but  rose  to  follow 
his  comrades  as  Alberto  disappeared  in 
the  office.  When  the  boy  emerged,  five 
minutes  later,  the  place  was  deserted. 

Rather  simple,  after  all!  Only  five  trai 
tors,  apparently;  and  for  the  present  they 
were  gone.  Now,  just  to  lock  and  bar  the 
big  gate,  and  think  wrhat  next. 

In  much  more  comfortable  mind  after 
bolting  the  only  entrance  to  the  walled  ha 
cienda,  Alberto  strolled  up  to  the  great 
shed,  and  halted  a  moment  by  the  big  trun- 


266  The  Silver  Omelet. 

die-mill,  pondering-.  So  far,  so  g-ood;  and 
now  what?  Leave  the  place  locked,  and 
ride  up  to  the  city  to  warn  the  authorities? 

A  sound  that  you  might  hardly  call  a 
sound,  so  faint  was  it,  startled  his  tense 
nerves;  and  as  he  wheeled  the  blood  went 
from  his  face.  Fifteen  feet  away,  barefoot, 
Narig-udo  stood  in  the  door  of  the  ore-shed, 
with  an  ug-ly  smile. 

" Young-  Excellency,"  he  drawled,  inso 
lently,  uyou  have  locked  me  in.  Give  me 
the  keys  to  g-o!" 

At  this  Alberto  found  his  voice.  "In  this 
hacienda,"  said  he,  steadily,  "it  is  accus 
tomed  to  obey  the  administrador,  and  not  to 
command  him.  I  will  let  you  out  when  I  go 
to  the  gate." 

"Ah,  it's  the  administrador,  is  it?  Then 
give  me  the  keys  before  I  eat  an  adminis 
trador 7"  The  tone  had  chang-ed  from  inso 
lence  to  rag-e,  and  the  angfry  fellow  sprang- 
forward. 

Alberto  wavered  in  his  tracks,  and  then 
straig-htened  with  a  snap.  The  key  of  the 
bullion-room?  Never! 

He  plucked  the  heavy  keys  from  his  belt 
and  flungf  them  fiercely,  just  as  that  big- 
hand  clutched  his  shoulder.  Narigudo 
hurled  him  ag-ainst  the  wheel-post  writh  a 
curse,  and  sprawled  forward  in  a  desperate 


The  Silver  Omelet.  267 

effort.  But  the  keys,  just  eluding  his 
fingers,  clanked  down  into  the  deep  drain. 

"Only  wait!"  he  roared.  "I  shall  have  it 
just  the  same,  and  you  shall  pay  the 
trouble!" 

He  plunged  into  the  opening:  with  a  back 
ward  glare  that  made  Alberto's  heart  stand 
still.  It  was  no  use  to  run — he  was  locked 
in,  too.  Just  to  wait  to  be  murdered ! 

But  then  the  boy  leaped  forward  with  a 
new  light  in  his  eyes.  A  big*  wooden  trough 
stood  there — uptilted  upon  one  face.  There 
was  a  muffled  bellow;  but  he  hunched  his 
shoulder  to  the  mass,  and  inched  it  for 
ward,  and  sank  upon  it  with  a  queer,  sob 
bing  laugh.  A  fine  trap  for  the  big  rat ! 

But  he  had  forgotten  the  difference  be 
tween  a  strong  boy's  strength  and  a  power 
ful  man's.  His  seat  heaved  under  him; 
clearly,  if  his  weight  were  removed,  Nari- 
gudo  could  lift  it.  The  fellow  had  all  his 
mighty  back  in  play,  and  seemed  like  to 
overturn  his  prison  door,  jailer  and  all. 

Alberto  could  not  even  groan.  It  was  im 
possible  to  stay  here,  as  great  dangers  were 
to  be  guarded  against  elsewhere.  But  he 
saw  plainly  that  he  could  not  get  far  before 

Narigudo  would  be  out,  and !  There  was 

no  weight  nearer  than  the  ore-sacks,  and  he 
dared  not  desert  the  trough  long  enough  to 


268  The  Silver  Omelet. 

go  half-way  to  them.  In  a  night-mare  of 
terror  he  crouched  on  the  trough,  trying  to 
make  himself  heavy,  and  praying  to  all  the 
saints. 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  wild  shout.  The 
whim!  There  stood  the  great  vertical 
wheel;  its  pole,  ten  feet  away,  was  two  feet 
from  the  ground.  If—!  Thank  God,  there 
was  no  ore  in  its  path ! 

Alberto  leaped  up,  dancing  noisily  on  the 
trough.  He  sprang  to  the  floor  and  back, 
ran  off  two  strides,  and  rushed  upon  the 
trough  again.  Now  his  head  was  clear  as  a 
bell. 

In  another  dash  he  seized  the  ponderous 
pole  and  wrenched  at  it  with  all  his  force. 
The  mill  creaked  and  gave  an  inch  or  two. 
Back  he  pounced  noisily  upon  the  trough, 
and  back  again  to  the  pole  for  another 
mighty  tug;  and  again,  and  a  dozen  times 
again.  Each  time  the  reluctant  wheel 
groaned  a  few  inches  forward  upon  its 
circle,  and  now  the  end  of  the  pole  barely 
overlapped  the  end  of  the  trough. 

All  was  quiet  below.  The  prisoner,  puz 
zled  by  these  crazy  antics  overhead,  was 
waiting  for  a  clew  to  what  it  all  meant. 
Now,  indeed,  he  began  to  heave  again;  but 
Alberto,  braced  backward  on  the  trough, 
was  slowly,  surely  dragging  the  pole  in. 


The  Silver  Omelet.  269 

Another  fierce  jerk,  and  his  task  was  done. 
The  great  horizontal  stick  overhung  the 
very  middle  of  the  trough. 

The  boy  rose  with  an  effort  and  leaned 
against  the  wheel.  A  wan  smile  came  on 
his  lips  as  the  trough  rose  with  a  jerk — 
just  three  inches.  Then  it  thumped  against 
the  pole  and  went  down  with  a  bang.  The 
trap  was  locked,  and  Alberto  never  stopped 
till  he  sank  breathless  on  the  office  steps. 

It  was  already  turning  dusk;  there  was 
no  time  to  lose.  Muskets  plenty  were  in 
the  armory,  but  Narigudo  had  the  key. 
However,  there  was  one  gun  in  the  office, 
and  Alberto  loaded  it  with  nervous  fingers. 
Then  he  climbed  into  the  loop-holed  turret 
which  overhung  the  gate,  and  crouched, 
waiting.  But  another  thought  seemed  to 
come,  for  he  chuckled  and  ran  down  the 
court.  When  he  came  back  to  the  tower, 
twenty  minutes  later,  the  stables  were 
empty,  and  so  was  the  office  drawer  from 
which  Don  Ygnacio  distributed  cohetes  on 
the  eve  of  a  feast-day.  On  the  other  hand, 
a  hundred  sleepy  mules  were  huddled  in 
the  entrance,  with  a  rope  stretched  taut 
behind  them,  and  back  of  the  rope  a  great 
many  little  heaps  of  small,  red  cylinders. 

At  nine  o'clock  there  was  a  faint  tap 
at  the  gate.  "Narigudo!"  someone  whis- 


270  The  Silver  Omelet. 

pered;  and  in  a  moment,  louder  and  impa 
tiently,  "Narigudo!  Art  thou'  asleep? 
Open!" 

Alberto  almost  laughed.  Then  he  drew 
back  his  shoulders  and  said,  sharply:  "Not 
a  shot  till  I  say  the  word!  As  for  you, 
stupids,  you  see  the  gate !  And  your  Nari 
g-udo —  he  is  well  boxed  up!" 

There  was  a  quick  scuffling  below.  Evi 
dently  the  bandits  had  run  back  under  the 
bottom  of  the  tower,  puzzled  by  this  turn  of 
affairs.  For  half  an  hour  there  was  a  trying- 
silence;  then  a  sudden  rush,  and  something 
smote  the  gate  with  a  tremendous  crash. 

"Not  yet!"  cried  Alberto.  "Wait  for  the 
word!" 

But  the  robbers  were  not  to  be  fooled.  If 
there  were  really  defenders,  they  would 
have  fired  before  now;  and  again  the  bat 
tering-ram  made  the  great  gate  tremble. 

Alberto's  finger  itched  on  the  trigger. 
Should  he  shoot?  Before  he  could  reload, 
they  might  have  the  gate  down.  And 
then ? 

He  leaned  the  long  musket  against  the 
wall  and  crept  down  into  the  courtyard 
just  as  the  thunderous  crash  came  again. 
Evidently  the  gate  was  beginning  to  give. 

Another  smash,  and  a  leaf  of  the  gate 
began  to  creak  with  that  ominous,  growing 


The  Silver  Omelet.  271 

creak  that  goes  before  a  fall.  Just  then 
there  was  a  little  flash  in  the  court-yard, 
and  a  queer  s-s-sizz-sizz,  pop!  bang-!  Bang! 
B-b-b-b-ang!  The  gate  reeled  and  fell  out 
ward,  and  with  the  roar  of  a  landslide  a 
hundred  terrified  mules  burst  through  the 
gap,  trampling  and  scattering  like  chaff  the 
knot  of  bandits  gathered  to  burst  in. 

And  then  from  far  up  the  cobble-paved 
highway  came  a  stentorian  yell,  and  pistol 
shots,  and  a  new  clamor  of  iron  hoofs.  Two 
minutes  later  Don  Ygnacio  and  his  men 
swept  into  the  court-yard,  where  a  col 
lapsed  young  hero  lay  beside  a  vast  litter  of 
bursted  firecrackers. 


A  Duel  in  the  Desert 


A  Duel  in  the  Desert. 


F  the  innumerable  tragedies  of  the  wil- 
derness  —  the  grim  procession  of  life 
and  death,  the  irreconcilable  conflict  of  the 
animals  as  bounden  as  we  are  to  appetite 
and  passion  and  self-preservation  —  proba 
bly  every  hunter  of  considerable  experience 
has  seen  the  eloquent  tokens;  and  every 
reader  has  heard  at  least  of  the  sensational 
cases.  The  wonder  is,  perhaps,  that  these 
latter  are  so  few  ;  that  only  one  death  out  of 
a  million  is  so  far  outside  the  vast  inclusive 
rule  as  to  be  of  interest  to  us  dull-eyed  ob 
servers.  For  the  law  of  conflict  is  inexora 
ble.  Outside  of  man  and  his  protected 
servitors,  only  a  tiny  fraction  of  a  per  cent. 
of  the  animals  die  "a  natural  death"  —  that 
is,  without  violence.  Of  teeming-  sea  and 
teeming  forest,  a  vast  majority  of  the  deni 
zens  perish  "with  their  boots  on"  —  over 
whelmingly  a  prey  to  that  insatiate  "hollow 
feeling"  which  Nature  has  put  forwarder 

275 


276          A  Duel  in  the  Desert. 

of  the  feral  population,  lest  it  overwhelm 
the  earth.  The  "defensive"  animals  fall, 
as  a  rule,  to  the  appetite  of  their  predatory 
neighbors;  the  predatory  beasts,  in  turn, 
have  a  reasonable  expectation  of  death  at 
the  " hands"  of  their  rivals  in  the  tribe, 
their  foes  outside,  or  the  only  unnatural 
killer,  Man.  Every  acre  of  field  and  forest 
has  had  its  myriad  tragedies  of  the  humble 
wild-folk — though  we  are  too  unobservant 
to  note  the  fact.  A  few  bleaching"  bones,  a 
wisp  of  fur  or  feathers,  a  dim  scurry  in  the 
dust — this  and  no  more  is  the  chronicle  of 
the  snuffing  out  of  a  life  as  gladly  lived,  as 
hardly  parted  with  as  our  own.  Many  au 
thors  have  become  famous  by  their  skillful 
dissection  of  the  Beastliness  of  Man;  but 
we  too  seldom  remember  (unless  while 
reading  the  Jungle  Stories  or  Wahb)  the 
Humanity  of  the  Beasts,  which  is  quite  as 
true  a  part  of  natural  history.  This  is 
mostly  because  in  our  civilized  cushioning 
we  know  nothing  real  about  the  beasts. 
They  are  very  little  more  to  us  than  so 
many  forms  of  speech,  raw  material  for 
perfunctory  literature  or  for  "hunting," 
whose  only  serious  penetration  is  put  up  in 
brass  cylinders  by  the  U.M.C.  Co.  It  is 
nothing  short  of  astounding  how  little  the 
average  "hunter"  knows  of  the  game  he 


A  Duel  in  the  Desert.          277 

kills,  except  so  much  of  its  habit  as  shall 
enable  him  to  kill  it.  Indeed,  the  very  name 
"Game"  is  perhaps  significant  of  this  blind 
ness.  It  is  a  game,  and  a  great  game,  if 
shrewdly  played;  but  pity  the  man  who 
can  see  in  it  nothing  but  the  killing!  He  is 
as  far  from  being  what  I  would  soberly  call 
a  hunter  as  the  fellow  whose  only  notion  of 
whist  is  to  play  trumps  at  every  lead  is  far 
from  being  a  whist  player.  One  who 
knows  as  well  as  anyone,  and  as  well  loves, 
the  wild  thrill  of  the  chase,  who  has  hunted 
and  been  hunted,  and  found  the  keenest 
" sport"  when  the  "game"  turned  the  ta 
bles  and  he  had  to  fight  hand-to-hand  for 
his  own  life,  is  not  apt  to  be  foolishly 
sentimental.  But  he  is  very  apt  to  pity 
those  who  have  never  learned  the  higher 
side  of  hunting.  To  watch  a  beaver  colony 
at  work;  or  a  vixen  with  her  pups;  or  a 
bear  family  at  play;  or  the  wild  stallion 
herding  his  flirtatious  manada  and  falling 
like  a  thunderbolt  upon  some  mustang  Lo 
thario;  or  partridge  or  wild  turkey  at  mat 
ing  time — experto  credite,  it  is  quite  as  much 
"fun"  and  rather  more  woodcraft  than 
trapping  or  killing  or  "creasing."  Which 
is  saying  a  great  deal.  And  to  such  as  mix 
the  game  with  brains,  these  things  become 
more  and  more  the  refinement  and  expert- 


278         A  Duel  in  the  Desert. 

ness  of  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a  fox  is  a 
much  smarter  hunter  than  any  man  who 
hunts  only  to  kill.  His  eyes  and  ears  are 
far  better,  his  nose  is  a  genius  of  which  no 
human  has  so  much  as  an  inkling1,  his  foot 
fall  is  infinitely  softer,  his  strategy  far 
more  competent.  For  that  matter,  more 
foxes  escape  the  allied  force  and  wit  of  a 
score  of  men  and  a  half-score  of  hounds 
than  partridges  or  quail  escape  the  unaided 
campaign  of  one  fox.  As  to  that,  in  the 
average  foxhunt,  at  least  (and  leaving  out 
of  the  count  the  trapper  and  real  wilder 
ness  hunter),  one  hound  is  worth  in  effect 
iveness  half  a  hundred  people.  Without  a 
single  dog  to  lead  them,  the  whole  chase 
could  as  soon  stay  at  home. 

More  picturesque,  perhaps,  than  the 
every-day  sacrifice  of  a  life  to  an  appetite  is 
the  animal  duel  to  the  death;  and  particu 
larly  when  both  parties  fall.  Feral  combats 
—  mostly  deriving  from  sexual  jealousy, 
for  it  is  comparatively  rare  that  predatory 
beasts  shall  fight  outside  their  kind — are 
innumerable,  though  in  a  small  minority  of 
cases  fatal  to  either  combatant;  perhaps 
fifty  times  as  rarely  to  both.  Even  in  the 
extreme  event,  there  is  generally  little  visi 
ble  record  left,  and  that  of  a  sort  that 
shamefully  few  of  our  hunters  can  identify. 


A  Duel  in  the  Desert.          279 

The  best  known — because  the  most  unmis 
takable — is  the  entanglement  of  buck  deer 
by  their  horns  in  such  inextricable  fashion 
that  the  duellists  starve  to  death.  This  is 
not  so  extremely  rare.  I  have  found  such 
grappled  skulls  thrice — in  Maine,  in  the 
Sierra  Madre  of  Mexico,  and  in  Colorado  so 
noble  a  duo  of  elk  heads  locked  in  this 
Chinese  puzzle  of  death  that  the  inaccessi 
bility  of  the  range  and  the  impossibility  of 
bringing  out  these  ponderous  relics  have 
given  me  a  standing-  grievance  these  seven 
teen  years.  The  swordfish  pinned  by  his 
beak  to  starve  beside  the  pierced  hull;  the 
rat  in  the  fatal  nip  of  a  big  clam ;  the  buffalo 
and  the  cinnamon  bear  fallen  together  dead 
— all  these  I  believe  to  be  authentic;  and  of 
the  mutual  Pyrrhic  victory  of  two  rattle 
snakes  I  have  seen  the  proof. 

But  beyond  reasonable  comparison,  the 
most  extraordinary  "document"  I  have 
ever  seen  or  heard  of  in  this  sort  is  the  ab 
solutely  unique  relic  found  in  1900  by  Edwin 
R.  Graham  in  the  desert  county  of  Inyo, 
Cal.,  near  Coalingo,  and  now  in  the  museum 
of  the  Leland  Stanford  Jr.  University. 
There  is  no  possible  question  of  its  authen 
ticity.  All  the  ingenuity  of  man  could  not 
make  a  tolerable  counterfeit  of  it.  Nor  do 
I  believe  there  is  any  reasonable  doubt  that 


a8o         A  Duel  in  the  Desert. 

it  is  the  most  remarkable  record  ever  found 
of  a  fight  to  the  death. 

It  is  unflattering-  but  typical  of  our  civi 
lized  observation  that  thousands  of  people 
— including  a  great  many  "hunters" — iden 
tified  these  mummied  protagonists  as  "a 
coyote  and  an  eagle."  Even  the  photograph 
shows  what  they  are,  as  well  as  the  vindic- 
tiveness  of  their  death-struggle. 

A  prowling  wildcat  (evidently  too  hungry 
to  be  fanciful)  finds  a  great  horned  owl 
blinking  upon  the  brink  of  a  cliff,  and 
pounces  upon  it,  catching  a  wing  hold.  The 
owl,  somewhat  armored,  even  against  those 
terrible  teeth  and  claws,  by  its  quilting  of 
feathers,  flings  itself  upon  its  back ;  pound 
ing  fiercely  with  its  free  wing,  tearing  with 
its  hooked  beak,  and  clenching  its  talons 
into  the  flesh  with  that  peculiar  mechanical 
lock-grip  of  its  kind — a  grip  which  death 
does  not  loosen,  as  more  than  one  hunter 
who  picked  an  owl  up  unripe  has  learned  to 
his  sorrow.  That  even  this  large  owl  could 
not  kill  a  full-grown  wildcat  in  any  ordinary 
combat,  probably  every  hunter  knows.  But 
this  owl  chanced  to  get  a  clutch  on  the  wild 
cat's  open  fore  paw,  one  of  his  claws 
clinched  behind  a  tendon — and  there  it  still 
is,  traceable  even  in  the  photograph.  Per 
haps  he  could  not  have  withdrawn  it  him- 


WILDCAT    AND    OWL    IN    DEATH-STRUGGLE 


A  Duel  in  the  Desert.          281 

self,  had  he  been  the  survivor  of  the 
strug-gle.  The  cat's  jaws  are  still  locked 
upon  the  broken  bone  of  the  owl's  left  wing-. 
Neither  is  otherwise  very  badly  mangled; 
and  doubtless  the  cat  would  have  torn  to 
shreds  "the  body  of  this  death"  and  g-one 
about  his  business  with  no  more  handicap 
than  that  ineradicable  talon  in  his  paw. 

But  in  their  wild  and  blind  melee  they 
overstepped  the  verg-e  of  the  cliff,  and  down 
they  went  tog-ether.  The  40-foot  fall  does 
not  seem  to  have  broken  their  clinch  at  all. 
If  it  did,  they  renewed  it.  But,  thoug-h 
no  fractures  were  sustained,  the  stumble 
doubtless  stunned  the  cat;  and  there,  irre 
trievably  grappled  in  immortal  hate,  they 
died  tog-ether  of  thirst  and  loss  of  blood. 
There  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff  they  were 
found;  desiccated  by  the  furnace  airs  of 
the  desert,  lig-ht  as  mummies,  but  unbro 
ken  ;  their  very  eyeballs  dried  in  their 
sockets ;  the  plumag-e  of  the  owl  practically 
complete,  and  enoug-h  fur  of  the  wildcat's 
muzzle  and  paws  left  by  the  moths  to  iden 
tify  it  even  to  those  who  could  not  recog-nize 
its  unequivocal  anatomy. 


A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat 


A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat. 


ONE  of  my  very  first  experiences  in 
the  West  was  a  midnight  tussle  with 
a  fifty-four  pound  wildcat  in  a  lonely  cabin 
in  the  Greenhorn  Mountains  of  Colorado.  I 
shall  never  forget  my  horror  at  the  sight  of 
that  huge  puss  on  a  beam  over  my  head; 
for  I  had  had  a  serious  experience  with  the 
wildcat  of  the  Northeast,  and  supposed  that 
this  fellow,  who  was  twice  as  big,  was  like 
wise  twice  as  much  to  be  dreaded. 

I  did  not  know  that  the  Rocky  Mountain 
wildcat  is  not  nearly  so  fierce,  and  that  he 
never  attacks  man  as  does  sometimes  his 
cousin  of  the  Maine  and  New  Hampshire 
forests  ;  and  I  had  very  slight  hopes  for  the 
outcome  of  a  struggle  twice  as  severe  as 
that  which  a  furry  freebooter  in  the  Pemige- 
wassett  wilderness  gave  me  a  good  many 
years  ago.  I  need  not  have  worried.  The 
Colorado  cat  was  easy  game  ;  and  when  the 


286       A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat. 

last  charge  in  my  six-shooter  had  brought 
him  to  the  floor,  his  life  was  soon  ended. 

That  first  encounter,  in  New  Hampshire, 
was  more  than  thirty  years  ago — years 
filled  with  roving  adventure  and  many  other 
things  which  are  apt  to  crowd  the  past  back 
into  forgetfulness.  But  I  remember  it  as 
though  it  had  been  yesterday.  Small,  white 

exclamation-points"  on  my  chest,  with  sev 
eral  other  scars,  occasionally  call  it  to  mind. 

I  had  grown  from  a  consumptive  boy  to  a 
small  but  thoroughly  athletic  young  man. 
Wrestling,  boxing,  canoeing,  hunting  and 
fishing  had  brought  me  into  good  condition, 
and  every  muscle  was  hard  as  wire.  But 
for  that  fact,  I  should  not  be  writing  this; 
for  the  fight  took  my  utmost  ounce  of 
strength.  Had  it  come  a  year  earlier,  my 
grave  would  be  in  the  wilderness  to-day. 

Of  the  yearly  thousands  who  visit  the 
great  summer  hotels  of  the  White  and 
Franconia  Mountains,  extremely  few  ever 
penetrate  the  Pemigewassett  wilderness. 
The  wild  ranges  wall  its  sides,  and  between 
them  is  a  huge  and  virgin  forest,  full  of 
game,  dotted  and  seamed  by  lakes  and 
brooks  that  swarm  with  trout.  In  this 
almost  untrodden  wild  rises  the  east  branch 
of  the  Pemigewassett,  the  beautiful  little 
river  which  later  becomes  the  Merrimac. 


A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat.       287 

I  was  hunting-  and  fishing  that  spring  on 
the  head  waters  of  the  east  branch.  My 
canoe  swam  a  lovely  but  nameless  lakelet, 
and  my  camp,  roofed  with  birch-bark,  was 
near  the  shore.  There  were  three  brooks 
running  into  the  lake  noisily;  and  at  the 
south  end  the  clear  young  river  slipped 
silently  out  through  the  dark  trees. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  May,  and  still  cold 
in  that  mountain  bowl.  I  had  a  fat  deer 
hung  high  beside  my  shelter;  so  there  was 
meat  for  some  time.  In  a  little  while  the 
fishing  would  be  very  tame,  for  there  the 
trout  have  not  fully  learned  what  a  deceiver 
man  is,  and  there  is  little  sport  in  standing 
almost  astride  a  rill,  and  with  a  five-foot 
willow  pulling  a  dozen  or  twenty  fish  out  of 
one  pool.  But  now  I  knew  the  big  fish  were 
around,  and  I  determined  to  spend  the  day 
with  my  rod. 

By  ten  o'clock  I  was  well  over  toward 
Mount  Lafayette,  on  the  largest  of  the 
brooks  which  came  into  my  lake  from  the 
west;  and,  descending  the  steep  banks  to 
the  bed  of  the  stream,  prepared  to  fish 
down  toward  camp. 

The  brook  fell  very  rapidly  here,  in  a 
series  of  short  falls,  at  the  bottom  of  each 
of  which  was  a  deep,  lovely  pool  of  water, 
so  clear  that  it  seemed  only  air  with  a  light 


288       A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat. 

tinge  of  green.  I  could  see  pebbles  ten  feet 
below  the  surface,  and  the  brown  flashes 
of  the  sportive  trout. 

In  five  minutes  I  was  landing  my  first 
fish,  a  game  half-pounder,  and  others  bit  as 
fast  as  I  could  attend  to  them. 

There  was  no  need  of  covering  much 
ground.  I  could  have  caught  in  fifty  yards 
all  I  could  eat  in  a  week.  But  I  kept  moving 
homeward,  taking  only  one  or  two  of  the 
largest  fish  from  a  pool  and  throwing  back 
any  accidental  small  ones. 

In  this  way  I  had  gone  down,  perhaps, 
half  a  mile,  when  I  came  to  the  largest  pool 
I  had  found  on  that  brook.  Here  it  seemed 
likely  that  there  might  be  some  particularly 
large  trout.  In  fact,  the  first  one  I  struck 
seemed  to  be  much  larger  than  any  on  my 
string;  but  he  snapped  the  hook  and  was 
gone  with  a  splash. 

I  had  drawn  an  extra  hook  from  my  box 
and  was  "ganging"  it  upon  the  line,  when 
some  impulse  caused  me  to  look  up.  As  I 
did  so,  the  tin  box  fell  clattering  upon  the 
rocks  and  my  rod  at  my  feet. 

The  brook  here  had  cut  a  narrow  gorge 
through  a  ridge,  and  the  pool  at  whose  head 
I  stood  touched  on  each  side  the  very  foot 
of  a  rocky  wall  nearly  forty  feet  high.  I 
was  standing  on  a  ledge  whence  the  brook 


A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat.       289 

dropped,  perhaps,  ten  feet  into  the  pool, 
and  the  banks  were  not  nearly  so  high 
there.  Still,  I  presume  the  tops  were  fifteen 
feet  above  my  head. 

A  giant  pine  had  fallen  across  the  gorge 
from  bank  to  bank,  making  a  knotty  bridge, 
which  was  almost  over  me,  but  a  little  in 
front;  and  upon  that  great  log  was  the 
Something  which  had  brought  my  heart 
up  into  my  mouth  with  such  a  bump. 

On  the  dark  side  of  the  tree,  behind  the 
stump  of  a  huge  limb,  flat  and  motionless 
as  you  could  press  your  hand  upon  the  ta 
ble,  lay  almost  the  last  thing  in  the  world 
that  I  desired  to  see  there — a  wildcat. 

Whether  it  was  crouching  there  when  I 
came,  or,  as  is  more  likely,  had  crawled  out 
from  the  bank  to  surprise  me,  I  never 
knew;  but  there  it  was  confronting  me. 

I  could  just  see  the  fierce  glints  in  its 
eyes;  and  when  its  gaze  met  mine,  the  tip 
of  the  ears,  outlined  on  a  patch  of  sky, 
seemed  to  flatten.  My  rifle  was  in  camp, 
for  it  was  too  long  a  walk  to  bring  it  when  I 
wished  to  fish.  I  had  not  even  a  revolver — 
nothing  but  a  keen-edged,  clip-point  hunt 
ing-knife,  which  hung  in  its  sheath  on  my 
left  hip. 

I  hardly  dared  move,  but  that  knife  I 
must  have.  Slipping  my  right  hand  cau- 


290       A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat. 

tiously  behind  my  back,  I  reached  far 
around,  till  at  last  it  touched  the  welcome 
hilt,  and  I  began  to  slip  the  sheath  slowly 
around  my  belt  to  the  right  side,  where  the 
knife  could  be  drawn  less  ostentatiously. 

All  this  time  I  had  never  taken  my  eyes 
from  those  of  the  unwelcome  intruder,  and 
I  kept  scowling-  at  him  with  a  savage  ex 
pression  which  was  meant  to  alarm  him, 
but  which  sadly  flattered  my  real  feelings. 

How  long  wre  stood  eyeing-  each  other 
thus,  I  do  not  know.  It  seemed  an  age  and 
must  have  been  several  minutes.  Neither 
of  us  moved.  He  lay  crouched  and  menac 
ing;  I  stood  outwardly  defiant,  writh  my 
hand  on  that  precious  buckhorn  handle. 
And  then  my  wet  feet,  chilled  with  the  icy 
water  of  the  brook,  betrayed  me.  I  felt  a 
sneeze  working  toward  the  surface. 

Now,  when  /sneeze,  it  is  no  gentle  tschoo! 
but  half  a  dozen  or  more  wild  and  uncon 
trollable  explosions,  which  never  fail  to 
bring  tears  to  my  own  eyes,  if  they  are 
lucky  enough  not  to  scare  some  unsuspect 
ing  stranger. 

I  struggled  to  choke  that  sneeze,  to  hold 
it  back;  but  I  might  as  well  have  tried  to 
hold  the  foaming  brook. 

Ker-cheooo  !  Ker-cheooo  !  Ker-cheooo-oo  ! 
With  each  eruption  my  head  flew  down  and 


A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat.       291 

my  body  shook;  and  as  I  straightened  up 
after  the  fifth  burst,  I  saw — through  the 
mist  that  filled  my  eyes — something-  dark 
descending  upon  me  like  a  great,  hazy  bird. 

I  had  not  once  changed  my  position  since 
first  seeing  the  wildcat.  He  was  a  trifle  to 
my  left,  and  my  left  foot  and  shoulder  were 
pointed  up-stream.  Our  lives  hang  on  such 
trifles  as  that!  Now,  with  the  trained 
instinct  of  the  boxer — who  has  first  to 
learn  to  act  without  stopping  to  think  how 
to  act — I  threw  my  left  hand  up  and  out! 
Half-way  to  arms-length  it  met  that  furry 
avalanche,  and  broke  its  force.  The  cat 
landed  full  against  my  side. 

Its  sharp  hind  claws  sank  into  my  thigh, 
and  the  sharper  fore  claws  clutched  me  in 
the  pectoral  muscles  in  front  and  between 
the  shoulder-blades  behind.  The  pain  was 
cruel,  but  I  had  no  time  even  to  cry  out.  At 
the  instant  I  expected  to  feel  those  merci 
less  jaws  on  my  neck,  and  that  would  be 
the  last. 

The  wildcat  knows  where  the  jugular 
vein  is  as  well  as  the  best  surgeon  of  them 
all;  and  it  is  for  that  that  he  invariably 
jumps.  Animals  killed  by  these  cruel  am- 
buscaders  are  sometimes  left  whole  and 
unmangled,  save  for  that  wicked  little  gap 
at  the  side  of  the  throat. 


292       A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat. 

But  my  boxing  lessons  had  saved  me. 
As  my  left  hand  went  out  in  that  "straight 
counter,"  it  struck  full  in  the  throat  of  the 
cat;  and  with  the  swift  inspiration  of  des 
perate  men,  I  clutched  the  folds  of  fur 
there  with  all  my  might. 

The  cat  strained  hard  to  pull-in  to  me — 
and  that  was  a  cruel  leverage  it  had  in  my 
own  flesh.  But  my  arm,  never  a  weak  one, 
was  doubly  strong  now;  and,  though  I 
could  not  force  him  from  his  hold,  I  kept 
his  head  well  away  from  mine,  which  I 
"ducked"  to  increase  the  still  unsatisfac 
tory  distance. 

Then,  drawing  the  keen  six-inch  blade,  I 
drove  it  against  his  side.  His  left  side  was, 
of  course,  the  one  exposed  to  me;  but  we 
were  so  "mixed  up"  that  I  could  take  no 
accurate  aim  at  his  heart,  and  just  thrust 
blindly  and  madly  at  that  stretch  of  mottled 
fur. 

Nothing  will  ever  dim  my  recollection  of 
that  desperate  struggle;  and  yet  I  seemed 
in  a  sort  of  trance.  You  have  had  night 
mares,  wherein  some  savage  beast  pursued 
you,  and  you  slammed  vain  doors  on  him 
which  he  brushed  open,  and  fired  ineffective 
rifles  at  him  whose  diminished  pop  did  not 
affect  him  in  the  least;  and,  do  what  you 
would,  nothing  availed  against  that  impla- 


A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat.       293 

cable  danger.  So  it  was  with  me.  I  seemed 
under  a  spell. 

Those  awful  claws  were  tearing-  me  every 
where;  that  fatal  head  was  struggling  to 
break  down  my  tiring  arm;  and  the  des 
perate  thrusts  of  the  knife  with  all  the 
force  of  my  right  arm  seemed  not  even  to 
penetrate  the  tough  hide.  They  went  deep 
enough,  as  I  found  later,  but  at  the  moment 
I  was  sure  they  hardly  scratched  him. 

Since  that  day  I  have  been  through  a 
great  many  of  the  things  of  whose  suspense 
we  say,  "They  seemed  eternities,"  but 
never  one,  I  think,  that  seemed  so  endless 
as  that.  And  yet  it  could  hardly  have  lasted 
a  minute.  I  was  growing  very  weak.  Blood 
was  running  down  in  my  boots,  and  my 
weary  left  arm  was  no  longer  rigid.  My 
right  was  no  longer  fully  under  control, 
and  once,  when  the  knife  glanced  a  rib,  it 
nearly  flew  from  my  hand. 

Once,  too,  I  struck  high,  and  the  cat  caught 
my  right  wrist  between  his  savage  teeth 
and  tore  out  a  piece.  Was  he  invulnerable? 
I  began  actually  to  believe  so  —  to  fancy 
that,  after  all,  it  must  be  a  hideous  dream. 

You  may  imagine  from  that  into  what  a 
state  my  mind  had  come.  But  still  I  plied 
the  knife,  and  still  with  cramped  and  trem 
bling  arm  held  off  the  creature's  jaws. 


294       A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat. 

And  then,  on  a  sudden,  a  great  wave  of 
joy  swept  over  me,  and  I  yelled  madly. 
The  curving-  claws,  set  deep  in  my  back 
and  breast,  relaxed.  It  was  only  the  least 
bit  in  the  world,  but  I  could  feel  the  ex 
quisite  pain  of  that  slight  withdrawal;  and 
in  another  instant  they  came  out  alto 
gether,  and  my  foe  fell  limp  upon  the  rocks 
beside  me,  where  he  never  moved  again. 

I  looked  at  him  once;  my  eyes  grew  dim, 
and  I  fell  across  him. 

When  I  recovered  consciousness,  we  were 
lying  in  a  heap,  wet  with  our  common 
blood.  I  crawled  a  couple  of  feet  to  the 
brook,  and  the  icy  water  revived  me,  so 
that  at  last  I  could  rise  and  limp  about  the 
field  of  our  strange  battle. 

The  cat  was  a  mass  of  wounds;  and  as 
I  counted  the  eleven  fatal  thrusts,  I 
marvelled  at  his  vitality  and  pluck — and 
very  heartily  respected  them,  too.  Any 
one  of  ten  of  them  would  have  finally 
killed  him,  but  he  had  kept  his  hold  to  the 
very  last,  which  had  sunk  deep  into  his 
heart. 

And  such  a  small  beast  to  attack  the  lord 
of  creation !  I  do  not  think  he  weighed  over 
thirty  pounds;  but  what  a  model  of  com 
pact  strength  and  agility!  His  skin  was 
so  slashed  as  to  be  absolutely  unsavable; 


A  'Rastle  with  a  Wildcat.       295 

but  I  kept  his  scalp  a  long-  time,  till  the 
moths  destroyed  it. 

As  for  myself,  I  was  in  little  more  attrac 
tive  shape  than  he.  Of  my  stout  duck  coat 
and  trousers  only  the  right  half  remained. 
My  duck  vest  and  heavy  flannel  shirt 
boasted  little  but  a  few  shreds  two-thirds 
of  the  way  around  my  body.  I  was  half- 
naked,  and  my  breast,  back,  left  side  and 
left  thigh  were  laced  with  deep,  bleeding 
g-ashes. 

There  is  only  one  thing-  about  that  day 
which  I  do  not  remember;  and  that  is,  how 
I  got  back  that  ten  miles  to  camp.  But 
somehow  I  got  there;  for  when  I  awoke 
next  morning,  very  weak  and  stiff — for  of 
all  wounds  I  know  of  none  so  painful  as 
those  inflicted  by  a  cat — I  was  under  my 
roof  of  birch  bark,  and  a  spotted  scalp  lay 
on  the  sand  beside  me. 


A  Tame   Deer 


A  Tame  Deer. 
"9 

BUCK  deer,  at  certain  seasons,  or  when 
wounded,  may  be  very  ugly  custom 
ers;  and  in  hunting-  East  and  West,  I  have 
had  several  unpleasant  experiences  with 
them.  The  very  first  deer  I  ever  killed,  up 
in  the  New  Hampshire  mountains,  came 
wonderfully  close  to  killing  me — after  his 
hind  leg  was  broken  at  the  hip  and  I  thought 
it  was  quite  safe  to  close  in  to  finish  him. 
How  he  literally  "wiped  the  ground"  with 
me! 

Others  of  his  kind  have  given  me  trouble 
and  danger  in  varying  degrees,  and  in  a 
variety  of  ways ;  and  I  have  known  several 
persons  killed  by  them.  But  the  "closest 
call"  a  deer  ever  gave  me,  and  one  of  the 
most  terrible  struggles  in  all  my  hunting 
and  wandering,  befell  me  in  the  heart  of 
the  city  of  Los  Angeles ;  and  the  hero  was 
a  "tame  "buck. 

It  was  many  years  ago,  at  a  time  when 
my  passion  for  pets,  always  strong,  had 
unusual  opportunities  for  gratification  in 

299 


300  A  Tame  Deer. 

one  of  the  moss-gathering*  intervals  of  a 
usually  rolling-  stone.  Behind  the  house 
(where  a  half-million  dollar  block  stands 
today)  was  a  good-sized  yard,  for  a  city  lot, 
well  shaded  with  eucalyptus  trees,  and  with 
a  substantial  shed.  Here  was  plenty  of 
room  for  pets,  and  we  acquired  a  variety  of 
them. 

First  in  our  affection  was  my  precious 
old  cat  Beauty,  which  had  come  with  the 
family  from  Ohio.  There  was  also  a  horse, 
which  boarded  at  the  livery  stable;  and  a 
fine  Danish  hound  that  had  adopted  us. 
This  did  very  well  for  a  while.  But  during: 
a  vacation  run  over  New  Mexico,  I  wounded 
a  young-  eagle;  and,  seeing:  that  his  wing- 
would  soon  heal  under  proper  care,  I  brought 
him  home  and  kept  him  in  a  leash  on  the 
back  porch,  where  he  throve  admirably. 

Then  someone  presented  me  with  a  barn- 
owl,  and  he  kept  the  eagle  company.  Rab 
bits  have  always  pleased  me ;  and  presently 
I  made  some  hutches,  and  in  time  had  them 
peopled  with  a  dozen  rabbits  and  guinea- 
pigs.  In  a  cage  in  my  study  lived  a  couple 
of  handsome  rattlesnakes;  and  one  day  I 
brought  home  in  a  slatted  box  a  tiny  wild 
cat — at  which  a  patient  wife  cried: 

" Don't  get  anything  more,  Charlie!  We 
can't  move  now  without  stepping  on  a  pet; 


A  Tame  Deer.  301 

and  they  are  too  much  care  for  me,  with 
you  gone  at  the  office  all  day  and  almost 
all  night!" 

But  in  spite  of  herself  she  grew  very  fond 
of  the  wildcat  baby,  which  would  lie  in  her 
lap  and  purr  with  the  most  ridiculously 
disproportionate  voice.  It  could  hardly  have 
been  a  month  old;  and  had  I  been  the 
hunter  who  found  it  in  the  Sierra  Madre,  it 
should  never  have  been  taken  from  its 
fierce  mother  at  such  an  age — for  it  had 
not  been  weaned,  evidently. 

Its  body  was  not  as  large  as  that  of  a 
lean  house-cat,  but  its  legs  were  quite  one- 
half  longer,  so  that  it  had  rather  the 
appearance  of  being  on  stilts  —  and  very 
uncertain,  wobbly  ones,  too.  Its  feet  were 
twice  the  size  of  Beauty's,  and  its  voice,  in 
growling,  was  so  heavy  and  so  savage  that 
one  could  scarce  believe  it  issued  from  that 
ungainly  little  frame. 

It  was  very  gentle  with  its  mistress, 
purred  sonorously  whenever  she  petted  it, 
and  went  stumbling  all  over  the  house  at 
her  heels.  Nor  was  it  hostile  to  the  young 
lady  who  completed  our  family,  not  half  so 
afraid  of  Beauty  as  Beauty  was  of  this  wild 
cousin.  But  with  me  it  would  have  nothing 
to  do.  As  I  was  then  city  editor  of  the 
morning  newspaper,  and  was  very  little  at 


302  A  Tame  Deer. 

home,  it  evidently  looked  upon  me  as  an 
interloper,  and  at  a  glance  of  me  would 
snarl  and  show  fight  as  sincerely  as  a 
grown  lynx.  And  it  was  an  enemy  not 
altogether  to  be  laughed  at,  as  there  are 
still  scars  to  testify. 

Once  it  climbed  up  and  hid  among  the 
springs  of  my  bed,  and  the  heavy  buck 
gloves  I  put  on  for  the  task  of  dislodging 
it  did  not  save  me  from  ugly  tastes  of  those 
keen  teeth  and  claws.  Perhaps  it  is  quite 
as  well  that  Tiger  did  not  survive  his 
infancy,  but  died  of  congestion  at  four  or 
five  months  old.  Had  he  grown  up,  without 
a  change  of  heart,  he  might  have  become 
troublesome. 

With  this  much  of  a  household  on  our 
hands,  we  might  very  reasonably  have  been 
content;  and  so  probably  should  have  been 
but  for  one  of  those  " chances  of  a  life 
time"  which  are  always  befalling  the  en 
thusiast.  A  fellow  down  in  the  Mexican 
quarter  of  the  city  had  a  pet  deer,  and, 
learning  of  my  hobby,  pestered  me  to  buy 
— " dirt  cheap,  Sir!" 

"No,  I  don't  want  any  deer.  Couldn't 
take  care  of  him." 

"Oh,  but  he  is  such  a  beauty,  Sir,  and 
tame  as  a  sheep,  and  $10  is  nothing.  Just 
come  and  look  at  him  I" 


A  Tame  Deer.  303 

Well,  it  could  do  no  harm  to  go  and  look  at 
a  pretty  animal;  so  I  went — with  a  virtuous 
resolve  not  to  acquire  another  single  pet. 

The  result  was  what  might  have  been 
expected.  He  was  a  beauty.  There  is 
almost  nothing1  handsomer  than  a  perfect 
Black-tail,  and  this  was  an  excellent  speci 
men — full  grown,  though  young,  with  one 
fork  on  his  dagger-sharp  antlers,  and 
gentle  as  a  kitten.  The  first  look  of  those 
liquid  eyes  made  my  resolution  tremble; 
and  when  the  lovely  creature  came  and 
nestled  his  face  into  my  vest  with  perfect 
confidence,  I  was  lost. 

I  could  not  even  wait  to  send  an  express 
man  for  him.  "Here  is  your  $10,"  said  I; 
"and  now  give  me  a  rope  to  lead  him  home." 

The  rope  was  put  around  that  graceful 
neck,  and  I  started  off  in  high  glee.  He 
followed  me  like  a  lamb  through  the  back 
streets,  paying  little  attention  to  people  or 
wagons — for  he  had  passed  most  of  his 
life  in  the  city — and  much  less  abashed 
than  his  new  master  by  the  sensation  we 
created.  Once  safely  at  home,  I  gave  -him 
a  strong  leather  collar  and  a  long  steel 
chain,  the  other  end  of  which  hooked  into 
a  staple  in  the  side  of  the  shed. 

Bonito,  as  we  named  him,  seemed  very 
content  in  his  new  home.  At  night  he  had 


304  A  Tame  Deer. 

a  comfortable  bed  in  the  shed,  and  by  day 
his  place  outside.  There  was  plenty  of 
alfalfa  and  young-  wheat,  which  we  had  cut 
for  him  from  the  rabbits'  patch,  and  bread 
and  sugar  from  the  house ;  and  every  morn 
ing-  my  habit  was  to  loose  his  chain  and  let 
him  wander  about  the  yard  with  me. 

He  had  a  great  curiosity  about  the  rab 
bits  and  the  owl,  a  fair  understanding  with 
Giallo,  the  dog,  a  supreme  contempt  for 
the  little  wildcat — which  had  been  trans 
ferred  to  a  big  cage  in  the  yard  and  roared 
at  us  whenever  we  approached.  As  for  the 
three  human  members  of  the  family,  he 
was  hail-fellow-well-met  with  us  all.  He 
kept  putting  himself  forward  to  be  petted, 
delighted  to  be  scratched  behind  the  ears, 
and  would  rather  eat  from  our  hands  than 
from  his  trough. 

For  five  or  six  months  Bonito  was  the 
pride  of  the  family.  He  had  grown  very 
fat,  and  was  sleek  and  handsome  as  one 
could  wish.  But  with  the  advance  of  sum 
mer  he  turned  misanthrope.  He  began  to 
paw  a  considerable  hollow  by  his  post,  and 
now  and  again  stamped  his  hoof  on  the 
ground  with  that  peculiarly  audible  rap 
which  with  wild  deer  is  an  alarm-signal 
sufficient  to  stampede  a  quietly  grazing 
herd.  Then  he  began  to  show  some  con- 


A  Tame  Deer.  305 

tempt  for  being-  petted,  and  several  times 
pushed  us  away  in  a  manner  nothing:  short 
of  rude. 

At  last  I  came  home  one  night  to  find  my 
wife  much  worked  up.  She  had  gone  out 
that  afternoon  to  feed  Bonito  and  was  giving 
him  an  apple,  when  suddenly  he  lowered 
his  head  and  sprang-  at  her.  Luckily  the 
sharp  horns  passed  either  side  the  slender 
waist,  pinning-  her  ag-ainst  the  shed,  but 
not  hurting-  her;  and  with  much  presence 
of  mind,  instead  of  fainting-  or  screaming 
or  struggling-,  she  scratched  beneath  his 
ears  soothingly,  and  he  at  last  let  her 
escape  unharmed. 

"H'm!  Well,  don't  you  go  near  him 
again,"  said  I.  "I'll  attend  to  him  myself, 
if  that 's  his  temper;"  and  I  forthwith  pro 
cured  a  new  chain. 

Several  times  in  the  next  few  weeks  he 
made  lunges  at  me,  but  again  would  seem 
gentle  and  would  enjoy  a  petting.  Against 
my  wife,  however,  he  appeared  to  have 
taken  a  sudden  grudge,  and  would  tug  on 
his  chain  at  sight  of  her. 

One  Saturday  she  went  to  visit  friends  at 
the  beach,  and  I  was  to  follow  on  the  half- 
past  eight  train  next  morning.  It  was  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning  when  I  saw  the 
paper  to  press  and  came  home,  and  at 


306  A  Tame  Deer. 

seven  o'clock  got  up  to  care  for  the  pets 
before  leaving". 

When  I  went  out  to  the  yard,  the  deer 
was  not  there.  The  staple  was  torn  out, 
and  the  drag  of  the  chain  enabled  me  to  find 
where  Bonito  had  jumped  the  fence  and 
made  off.  I  trailed  him  several  blocks,  and 
at  last  found  him  impudently  grazing  on  a 
handsome  lawn  on  Hill  Street. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  elude  me,  and 
when  I  took  the  end  of  the  chain  he  followed 
as  meekly  as  you  please,  only  stopping  now 
and  then  to  nibble  a  bit  of  grass  by  the 
sidewalk. 

Unluckily  just  then  I  pulled  out  my 
watch.  Seven-fifty!  Time  to  hurry  up — 
and  when  Don  Bonito  stooped  to  graze,  I 
leaned  back  on  the  chain  and  brought  him 
along.  Five  or  six  times  this  happened, 
and  I  fancied  he  was  not  quite  so  meek. 
Hungry  he  could  not  be — it  was  just  his 
stupid  notion  to  take  a  bite  by  the  wayside; 
and  my  train  would  not  wait  for  that.  So 
each  time  that  he  halted,  a  steady  but  re 
sistless  pull  brought  him  sliding  forward, 
brace  his  feet  as  he  would. 

The  last  time  I  pulled  there  was  a  sur 
prise.  For  an  instant  he  held  back  with 
all  his  strength,  and  then,  suddenly  hunch 
ing  his  body  like  a  panther,  he  gave  a  great 


A  Tame  Deer.  307 

bound  at  me.  Losing  balance  at  this  sud 
den  yielding-  of  the  weight,  I  sprawled  on 
the  sidewalk,  and  Bonito  pounced  upon  me 
like  a  cat,  cutting  my  leg  with  his  sharp 
hoofs,  and  aiming  his  sharper  horns  at  my 
ribs.  It  was  as  well  that  he  had  to  do  with  no 
novice  at  catch-as-can  wrestling,  for  without 
those  years  of  keen  practice  I  never  should 
have  come  out  from  the  next  fifteen  min 
utes — if,  indeed,  from  the  first  onslaught. 
As  it  was,  I  clutched  a  horn  at  the  first 
pass,  within  six  inches  of  my  side;  and  then, 
capturing  the  other,  readily  got  my  feet. 

This  head-lock  counter-balanced  his  20 
pounds'  superiority  in  weight,  but  the  very 
fact  of  being  overpowered  made  him  beside 
himself.  He  began  to  fight  with  inconceiv 
able  fury,  twisting  till  he  seemed  like  to 
break  his  neck  in  the  effort  to  free  his 
horns  or  get  at  me  with  his  feet. 

It  began  to  appear  that  he  had  me  in 
something  like  a  "box."  It  was  equally 
out  of  the  question  to  let  him  go  or  try  to 
lead  him  farther.  Every  motion  or  snort  of 
the  infuriated  animal  showed  that  his  one 
thought  now  was  not  escape,  but  revenge. 

Still,  confident  in  my  muscles — like  steel 
yet  from  a  thirty-five-hundred-mile  walk 
across  the  continent — I  had  no  apprehen 
sions.  The  only  thing  necessary  was  to 


308  A  Tame  Deer. 

take  him  home  in  such  fashion  that  he 
could  not  hurt  me;  and  once  there,  the 
chain  would  take  care  of  him. 

So  I  got  my  left  arm  locked  in  a  chancery 
hold  around  his  neck,  my  right  hand  still 
firmly  holding  his  right  horn,  which  worked 
uncomfortably  close  to  my  stomach,  and 
thus,  lifting  him  so  that  his  fore  feet  were 
off  the  ground,  I  started  homeward. 

But  there  had  been  a  reckoning  without 
the  host.  The  first  two  blocks  went  fairly, 
though  in  an  unceasing  violent  struggle  — 
rather  to  the  scandal  of  the  two  or  three 
passers  we  met,  so  early  for  Sunday  morn 
ing  in  that  quiet  part  of  the  town.  But 
when  I  came  with  my  prisoner  to  Fifth 
Street,  it  was  with  the  consciousness  that  I 
was  pretty  well  worn  out,  and  that  he,  in 
spite  of  the  strangle-lock,  seemed  to  be 
growing  fresher. 

Each  moment  he  fought  with  new  rage 
and  vigor,  sometimes  driving  me  against 
the  fence,  sometimes  over  the  curb;  lung 
ing  fiercely  with  those  sinewy  hind-legs, 
and  striking  wildly  with  the  pointed  fore- 
hoofs,  whose  dangerous  effectiveness  every 
hunter  knows. 

The  way  we  wrestled  and  fought  over 
the  next  six  or  seven  hundred  feet  might 
have  been  amusing  to  bystanders,  but  be- 


A  Tame  Deer.  309 

came  terrible  to  me.  It  was  not  for  the 
bruises  and  gashes  I  got,  nor  for  the 
breathless  thumps  against  fences  and 
trees,  nor  for  the  being  violently  thrown 
several  times.  I  kept  his  head  in  chancery, 
and  these  small  hurts  were  not  much  more 
than  one  expects  to  get  in  a  good  bout  of 
catch-as-can  with  a  human  adversary. 

As  long  as  I  could  keep  that  deadlock  on 
his  neck  I  was  perfectly  safe  from  any 
serious  injury,  but  the  grim  certainty  con 
fronted  me  that  I  could  not  keep  it  much 
longer.  My  arm  began  to  give  at  his 
fiercest  lunges,  my  breath  and  heart  were 
alike  stampeding,  and  I  felt  creeping  over 
me  the  dizzy  faintness  of  utter  exhaustion. 
Never  had  wrestler  given  me  such  tussle 
before — though  I  have  worked  two  hours 
"on  the  carpet"  at  a  bout. 

Down  we  went  again  at  the  last  corner, 
and  again  a  glancing  hoof  cut  me  as  I 
fought  back  to  my  feet.  I  dropped  the 
horn  and  clasped  the  left  wrist  with  my 
right  hand,  drawing  the  arm  tighter  under 
the  brute's  throat,  at  once  to  hold  him 
surer  and  cut  off  his  wind.  But  the  broad 
leather  collar  seemed  to  save  him.  A  burly 
fellow  passed.  "Help  me  with  this  deer!" 
I  panted;  but  he  looked  at  the  savage 
struggles  of  Bonito  and  hurried  on. 


310  A  Tame  Deer. 

At  the  very  gate  the  beast  bore  me  down 
once  more;  but  once  more  I  struggled  up 
and  dragged  him  in.  We  swayed  and 
fought  along,  tearing  up  the  gravel-walks 
and  flower-beds,  and  at  last  came  to  the 
shed.  I  could  barely  stand,  and  Bonito 
dragged  me  hither  and  yon.  My  eyes  were 
hazy,  and  the  cramped  arms  began  to  slip. 
Would  Virginia  never  come  ?  I  yelled  again, 
and  just  then  she  came  running  out. 

"Fasten — his  chains — around  the  post!" 
I  had  just  breath  to  gasp;  and,  like  the 
brave  girl  she  was,  she  did  it — in  what 
seemed  to  me  forever,  while  the  deer  and  I 
fought  the  last  bout. 

"Run!"  I  cried,  when  the  chain  was  at 
last  secured ;  and  when  she  was  in  the  back 
door,  I  dragged  Bonito  to  the  end  of  his 
chain,  loosed  my  hold  and  fell  backward. 
I  am  positive  that  I  could  not  have  held  him 
twenty  seconds  longer  to  save  my  life. 

He  slacked  back  on  the  tether  and  hurled 
himself  forward  till  the  steel  links  cracked 
again,  and  his  eyes  fairly  started  with  the 
pressure  on  his  throat.  But  the  chain  held, 
and  his  frantic  efforts,  which  continued  as 
long  as  I  was  in  sight,  were  in  vain.  Had  a 
link  parted  then,  he  would  have  had  an  easy 
victim.  A  few  minutes'  breathing-spell 
made  me  over,  and  by  a  bit  of  good  fortune 


A  Tame  Deer.  3 1 1 

I  caught  the  next  train,  and  reached  Long 
Beach  not  far  behind  time — though  with 
various  large  rents  and  blood  stains  on  my 
clothing1. 

The  next  day  a  butcher  was  summoned 
to  rid  us  of  so  dangerous  a  pet.  He  dealt 
Bonito  a  fearful  blow  on  the  forehead  with 
a  hatchet.  The  deer  dropped  as  if  shot, 
and  lay  motionless ;  and  the  butcher  stepped 
forward  with  his  knife.  But  like  a  flash 
the  brute  was  on  his  feet  again — and  on 
his  assailant,  whose  coat  was  pierced  front 
and  back  by  the  sharp  antlers.  It  was  a 
remarkable  chance  that  they  had  not  en 
tered  his  abdomen. 

The  butcher's  fat,  rosy  face  turned  a 
sickly  gray.  He  kept  his  distance  after 
that,  and  with  a  long-handled  ax  made 
thrice  sure  of  the  game  before  he  would  ven 
ture  again  within  the  radius  of  that  chain. 

Bonito  dressed  one  hundred  and  fifty-six 
pounds — so  you  see  he  was  no  feather 
weight  for  a  wrestler.  He  was  fat,  and 
they  said  very  good  venison.  At  home  we 
could  not  think  of  eating  the  meat  of  a 
former  pet;  but  after  his  exploits,  our  sen 
timent  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  make  us 
sorry  that  someone  else  could. 

And  since  then  I  have  never  had  an  ambi 
tion  to  get  another  "tame  deer." 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 


WHEN  I  was  a  lad  in  a  lonely  New 
Hampshire  village,  in  the  memora 
ble  year  of  1863,  a  great  many  fathers  and 
uncles  and  older  brothers  were  off  at  some 
fearful  and  dimly-comprehended  distance, 
dressed  in  blue,  and,  as  we  reckoned  it, 
fighting:  battles  daily. 

How  brave  they  had  looked  one  morning, 
as  they  left  town,  marching  with  fife  and 
drum  along  the  crazy  sidewalk,  and  off 
down  the  "  Depot  Hill!" 

After  that,  the  games  at  school  and  after 
school  took  a  decidedly  warlike  tinge. 
Wooden  swords  and  muskets  largely 
usurped  the  place  of  top  and  ball;  and 
proud  was  the  small  boy  whose  grand-dad 
would  lend  him  a  real  sword  of  1812,  or  an 
ancient  militia  shako. 

When  the  stern  New  Hampshire  winter 
came  on,  with  its  sleighing  and  coasting 
and  skating,  military  evolutions  were  some 
what  curtailed  —  but  not  altogether.  There 

315 


316     The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 

were  snow  forts  and  snow  battles;  white- 
blocked  Sumters  that  defied  the  assault  of 
the  enemy. 

Patriotic  feeling-  ran  riot ;  and  when  one 
young  school-fellow,  named  Tip,  espoused 
the  Southern  cause  for  fun,  and  began  to 
press  our  ramparts  sore,  gaining  recruits 
every  day  by  his  sheer  audacity,  there 
came  to  be  snow-balls  slightly  thawed  and 
then  left  out  over  night  to  turn  to  ice — and, 
as  a  result,  some  dangerous  casualties  on 
the  battle-field. 

The  very  opposite  of  Tip  in  many  ways 
was  Mat  Marks.  Tip  was  restless,  some 
times  reckless,  always  full  of  mischief,  but 
one  of  the  squarest  and  least  self-conscious 
of  boys.  His  sudden  "turning-  Rebel," 
when  he  could  hardly  draft  rebels  enoug-h 
to  make  the  holding-  of  our  forts  against 
them  half-way  interesting,  was  from  no 
lack  of  as  good  patriotism  as  ours. 

But  Tip  liked  excitement,  and  was  less 
vain  than  most  of  us ;  and  without  a  second 
thought  of  any  prejudice  that  he  might 
excite  because  of  this  boyish  enterprise,  he 
abandoned  the  fort  and  took  command  of 
the  enemy— -"just  to  make  it  interesting." 

And,  though  he  was  always  overwhelm 
ingly  outnumbered,  interesting  enough  he 
made  it  for  "Us  Unions"  before  he  finished. 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner.     317 

Mat,  on  the  other  hand,  while  in  a  way 
as  active  and  enterprising  as  Tip,  was 
much  bound  to  the  traditions — not  from 
any  principle  or  understanding-  of  them, 
but  because  he  liked  to  be  on  the  popular 
side,  and  at  the  head  of  it,  too;  for  he  had  a 
remarkably  good  opinion  of  himself. 

Thanks  to  his  diplomacy,  he  counted 
more  followers  than  any  other  lad  in  town, 
and  was  fully  satisfied  of  the  justice  of  his 
preeminence.  He  liked  to  deem  himself 
"a  born  leader  of  men,"  such  as  he  read 
of;  and  I  have  often  wondered,  since,  that 
we  so  long-  and  so  unquestioningly  obeyed 
his  smooth  dictatorship.  He  was  always 
"  organizing " — the  snow-ball  battles  were 
the  outcome  of  his  genius — and  we  carried 
out  his  orders  with  remarkable  fidelity. 

With  the  twentieth  of  December  came  a 
three-foot  fall  of  snow,  and  in  a  few  days  it 
was  hard  packed  on  every  highway,  like  a 
squeaky,  white  pavement.  No  more  skating 
now — the  sled  was  to  be  king  for  the  next 
two  months.  For  a  few  days  everybody 
coasted,  hit  or  miss;  and  the  long  slide 
swarmed  like  an  ant-hill  going  crazy.  But 
then  the  administrative  mind  of  Mat  began 
to  work.  Everyone  sliding  down  hill  on  his 
own  hook  and  straggling  back  at  will — this 
was  altogether  too  puerile  and  unorganized  1 


318     The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 

So  Mat  called  a  council  of  war. 

"Say,  boys,"  he  said,  "I'll  tell  you  what 
let's  do!  Instead  of  going:  higgledy- 
piggledy  at  it,  like  a  lot  of  girls,  let's 
organize  the  coasting  in  good  shape.  We  '11 
have  our  rules  and  signals  and  right  of 
way,  just  like  a  railroad,  and  a  switch  at 
the  tannery  corner  so  the  small  boys  can  go 
on  to  the  toll-bridge,  carrying  supplies  for 
the  army,  and  the  express-trains  can  turn 
off  to  the  depot  and  take  troops  to  the  front. 

"Then,  too,  I  think  father'll  let  me  have 
old  Nell,  and  we  can  make  her  haul  back  all 
the  sleds  in  a  string,  and  let  fellows  have 
turns  riding  her  down  to  meet  us  again. 
So  that'll  get  rid  of  the  meanest  part  of  it 
— the  pulling  our  sleds  up  hill.  Besides, 
we're  all  the  time  having  trouble  with 
teams  now;  but  if  they  all  knew  we  were 
coming  down  in  a  steady  string,  they'd 
keep  out  of  the  way,  and  do  their  sledding 
only  when  the  coast  was  clear.  What  do 
you  fellows  think?" 

"Good  enough!"  "That's  the  way !"  "All 
right!"  cried  the  crowd,  in  various  voices, 
but  with  one  mind.  But  when  the  exclama 
tions  were  over,  Tip  tilted  his  sharp  face  a 
bit  and  said : 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  while 
Nell  is  getting  down  hill?  Sit  in  the  snow- 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner.     319 

drift  there  at  the  depot  and  rub  your  ears? 
Strikes  me  it's  better  to  turn  around  and 
climb  back,  and  keep  warm,  'stead  of  wait 
ing-  there  half  an  hour  to  freeze.  And 
s'posing  some  team  that  didn't  know  about 
our  all  comin'  down  together  was  to  get  in 
the  way?  Then  we'd  be  apt  to  get  tangled 
up  with  each  other  and  go  to  smash." 

"Huh!"  retorted  Mat,  sharply;  "I  guess 
you're  scared.  But  you  don't  have  to  join 
us.  If  the  rest  say  to  go  in,  I  guess  we  can 
get  along  without  you.  What  do  you  say, 
fellows?  Shall  we  do  it?" 

"'Course  we  will!"  was  the  chorus;  and 
Mat  looked  triumphantly  at  his  rival — for 
there  was  no  denying  that  Mat  reckoned  as  a 
rival,  and  therefore  a  foe,  anyone  who  didn't 
agree  with  him,  as  Tip  generally  did  not.  Tip 
returned  the  glance  coolly  and  answered : 

"Why,  you  fellows  do  as  you  like,  of 
course — I  ain't  bossing  you.  But  you  can 
count  me  out  from  any  such  goose-tag  as 
that." 

"We  wouldn't  have  you  anyhow!"  cried 
Mat,  nettled  at  this  comparing  them  to  a 
flock  of  geese  waddling  one  after  the  other. 
"We  don't  care  to  have  any  traitors  in  our 
crowd." 

"Yah,  you  old  Rebel!"  piped  little  Bill 
Burpee,  taking  his  clew  as  usual;  and  sev- 


320     The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 

eral  others  echoed  what  was  then  the  most 
dreadful  word  in  our  vocabulary. 

"I  ain't  a  Rebel,  and  you  know  it!"  Tip 
answered,  warmly.  "I  guess  my  father's 
fighting-  as  hard  as  any  of  yours — and  he 
ain't  staying-  home  to  tend  grocery  stores, 
like  Mat's!"  with  which  parting-  shot  he 
walked  off  scornfully  and  quite  alone. 

I  can  hardly  understand  now  why  we 
were  so  unjust  to  Tip.  He  had  more  in 
him  than  any  other  boy  among-  us,  was  less 
selfish,  more  trustworthy  and  a  better 
friend  than  ten  Mats,  and  had  done  each  of 
us  no  end  of  boy-kindnesses,  instead  of 
using-  us  as  cat's-paws  for  his  own  ambition. 

But  just  because  he  had  "played  Rebel" 
for  a  few  days  solely  to  put  a  little  life  into 
the  war,  the  boys  were  "down  on"  him. 
His  followers  in  that  campaign  we  made  no 
note  of  and  harbored  no  grudge  against. 

Perhaps  there  was  wounded  vanity  in 
the  recollection  how  nearly  his  superior 
g-eneralship  had  routed  our  superior  forces. 
So  unreasoning:  are  early  prejudices  that  I 
presume  a  few  of  us  never  did  quite  g:et 
the  last  grain  of  grudge  out  of  our  heads  — 
unless,  perhaps,  fifteen  years  later,  when 
Mat  was  clerking  in  his  father's  store,  and 
word  came  of  the  death  of  Capt.  Tip  in 
Arizona.  He  was  slain  by  the  Apaches 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner.      321 

after  an  heroic  fight  which  saved  an  immi 
grant  party  till  the  arrival  of  troops  enough 
to  scatter  the  red  fiends. 

Well,  Mat's  plan  progressed  famously. 
A  small  army  of  us,  with  brooms  and 
shovels,  worked  over  that  mile  and  a  half  of 
road  till  the  coast  was  in  such  good  shape 
as  no  one  ever  dreamed  of  before. 

The  weather  stayed  obstinately  cold;  so, 
under  Mat's  direction,  we  brought  water 
by  the  bucketful  and  wet  down  the  safer 
parts  of  the  slide.  There  was  some  friction 
about  this,  for  the  older  people  objected  to 
so  much  glare  ice;  but  Mat  compromised 
by  not  wetting  the  street  crossings,  and 
only  a  narrow  track  at  the  side  of  the  road, 
so  that  sleighs  had  plenty  of  room  without 
encroaching  on  our  slide. 

At  the  tannery  corner  we  made  a  crescent 
of  hard-packed  snow,  with  sloping  con 
cavity,  which  rendered  it  rather  easier  to 
turn  that  dangerous  angle.  It  was  like  the 
raised  rail  on  the  outside  of  the  railway 
curve,  or  the  "saucer-edge"  of  an  auto 
mobile  race-track. 

And  then  came  the  marshalling  of  the 
clans.  Our  embryo  Napoleon,  of  course, 
was  commander-in-chief,  and  his  pride,  the 
double-runner  "Avalanche,"  led  the  line. 
There  were  in  those  days  but  half  a  dozen 


322     The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 

other  double-runners  in  town.  These  were 
owned  by  young-  men.  Mat's  was  the  only 
one  in  "our  crowd."  It  was  a  very  fancy 
affair  for  then  and  there. 

Right-hand-man  Hunt  was  privileged  to 
manag-e  the  rear,  and  the  coveted  remaining- 
seats  were  occupied  by  g^uests  of  passing 
invitation. 

It  was  no  small  social  power  to  control  a 
double-runner,  and  Mat  made  the  most  of 
it,  giving-  rides  to  all  his  friends  with  great 
princeliness.  But  I  remember  that  we 
never  saw  on  Mat's  "traverse"  any  of  the 
urchins  from  the  lower  end  of  the  village — 
they  had  no  "influence." 

Behind  the  "Avalanche"  came  sleds  of 
all  sorts  and  sizes.  As  for  Tip,  no  one  had 
seen  him  for  several  days.  He  lived  up  on 
the  other  hill — a  hill  even  steeper  than 
Dolloff's,  but  coming-  in  with  such  an  ug-ly 
turn  at  the  engine-house  that  no  one  coasted 
there  since  big-  Ned  Green  broke  his  neck 
on  a  wood-pile  around  the  bend. 

The  great  Saturday  came  for  the  formal 
inauguration  of  the  Cannonball  Railroad. 
Sixty-odd  boys  were  g-athered  at  the  top  of 
Dolloff's  Hill.  Some  girls  were  there,  too, 
with  their  high,  flat-runnered  sleds,  upon 
which  we  looked  with  supreme  scorn. 
Kitty  White  and  Annie  Waters  and  May 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner.     323 

Thurston  were  comfortably  tucked  up  on 
the  cushioned  seat  behind  Mat  on  his 
double-runner;  and  Hunt  was  holding-  back 
on  the  tail-board  till  the  signal. 

"All  ready— go!"  yelled  Mat.  Hunt 
sprang  to  his  seat,  and  the  sled  slipped 
away,  gaining-  momentum  swiftly.  Charlie 
White  flung  himself  on  his  long  cutter  and 
was  at  its  heels;  and  one  after  another,  in 
continuous  line,  the  whole  array  of  boys  on 
their  sleds  went  sweeping  down  the  hill. 

Just  as  the  last  of  us  were  whizzing  by 
the  engine-house,  there  was  a  shrill  yell, 
and  a  dark  flash  from  the  other  arm  of  the 
"Y"  of  the  roads  shot  alongside  in  a  swirl 
of  snow-flower,  and  was  past  almost  before 
anyone  could  crack  a  wink. 

All  we  were  sure  of  was  that  Tip  and  a 
party  had  gone  by  us,  but  how,  or  on  what, 
no  one  knew.  Anyhow,  it  was  just  like 
him.  No  one  but  Tip  could  have  turned 
that  lopsided  corner  in  that  way,  and  grazed 
safely  within  two  feet  of  us.  And  one 
after  another  of  the  brown  line  ahead,  we 
could  see  this  astounding  meteor  picking 
up  and  passing  them  all. 

Mat  was  right  on  the  town  bridge,  steer 
ing  his  grandest  to  cut  a  fine  curve  through 
the  square,  when  he  caught  that  odd  singing 
of  tempered  runners.  Before  he  could 


324     The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 

turn  his  head,  Tip  streaked  by  without  a 
glance,  doubled  the  corner  with  a  beautiful 
swing,  and  was  out  of  sight  on  the  next 
pitch  when  the  "Avalanche"  turned  into 
the  square. 

Tip  on  a  double-runner!  and  one  with 
wings,  too,  to  judge  by  its  speed !  And  Lou 
Berry  and  Kate  Morris  and  Amy  Belle  and 
that  pauper  Okey  boy  with  him,  and  that  big 
Brown  behind — it  was  altogether  too  much ! 
When  we  got  to  the  bottom  of  Depot  Hill, 
Tip  and  his  party  were  starting  back, 
dragging  the  new  craft.  It  was  a  very 
heavy  double-runner,  with  a  long,  springy 
plank  of  ash,  set  rather  low.  There  was 
no  paint  on  runners  or  deck,  but  everything 
about  the  sandpapered  wood  had  a  clipper 
look,  and  the  runners  were  shod  with  steel 
rods  of  an  odd  spring. 

" Where 'd  ye  get  it,  Tip?"  "Ain't  it  a 
whaler?"  "  Lemme  go  down  once  with 
you,  Tip!"  cried  such  of  the  boys  as  could 
catch  up — which  was  not  so  difficult,  as  old 
Nell  was  dragging  our  sleds.  Tip  trudged 
on,  answering  composedly: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Brown  and  I  got  it  fixed  up. 
'Course  you  can  go,  one  at  a  time — we've 
got  room  for  just  one  more." 

But  just  then  Mat — whose  heavy  sled 
went  farther  than  our  light  ones — overtook 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner.     325 

us.  No  doubt  he  felt  pretty  sore  over  beingf 
so  egreglously  beaten  at  his  own  game ;  and 
his  look  was  anything-  but  amiable  as  he 
observed,  loudly  and  in  his  most  scornful 
tone:  "Huh!  We  feel  pretty  smart  with  a 
Rebel  double-runner,  don't  we?" 

Kate  and  Lou  flushed  up,  and  Brown 
stuck  out  his  lip  contemptuously,  but  Tip 
only  answered,  drily: 

"No-o,  not  so  awful  smart — just  smart 
enough  for  what  we  need." 

This  was  fuel  to  the  fire.  Mat,  who  was 
much  the  heavier  of  the  two,  stepped  for 
ward  ;  and  very  likely  there  would  have 
been  a  scene,  except  that  the  good  old 
minister  just  then  stopped  his  sleigh  for  a 
chat  with  some  friends,  the  boys.  But  Mat 
had  clinched  a  nickname,  and  Tip's  turnout 
became  in  every  mouth  "The  Rebel  Double- 
runner." 

Nor  did  it  stop  there.  An  organized 
movement  —  in  which  Mat  was  far  too 
shrewd  to  let  himself  be*  seen,  leaving-  it  to 
his  younger  followers  —  was  made  to  cut 
(boycott,  as  we  would  say  nowadays)  every 
one  who  had  anything-  to  do  with  Tip. 

Brown  evidently  didn't  borrow  much 
trouble  about  the  scorn  of  boys  so  much 
younger  than  himself;  and  whatever  Tip 
may  have  felt,  he  said  nothing-. 


326     The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 

But  Kate  and  Lou  felt  it  keenly,  for  even 
the  sisters  of  the  camp  were  enlisted  to 
make  thing's  unpleasant  for  "all  who  gave 
aid  and  comfort  to  Rebels."  But,  as  they 
were  loyal  and  plucky  girls,  they  stuck 
to  their  friend  in  a  fashion  that  was 
rather  heroic,  considering-  the  heat  and  the 
meanness  of  youthful  partisanship.  I  trust 
that  for  the  many  shabby  turns  done  them 
they  found  some  recompense  in  the  regu 
larity  with  which,  day  after  day  and  many 
times  a  day,  they  whizzed  past  their  envious 
persecutors.  For  Tip  had  left  no  gap  in 
his  plans.  The  Rebel  double-runner  was 
safe  to  win  every  time — thanks  partly  to  its 
superior  construction,  partly  to  the  dan 
gerous  hill  on  which  it  got  its  headway,  and 
partly  to  the  tremendous  send-off  given  it 
by  that  hatefully  muscular  Brown. 

Besides,  Tip  had  a  perfect  genius  as  a 
steerer — the  genius  of  effort  and  fixity, 
which  counts  oftener  than  any  other  kind. 
He  seemed  afraid  of  nothing,  because  he 
really  "saw  his  way  through."  He  had 
studied  that  slide  in  every  inch,  and  knew 
how  to  give  his  sled  every  advantage  of  it. 

It  was  an  aggravation  almost  beyond  endur 
ance  to  have  them  flash  by  us  so  easily  every 
time;  but  for  all  Mat's  efforts  and  schemes 
and  our  wild  jockeying,  they  continued  to  do 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner.     327 

it.  If  the  continued  triumph  of  the  Rebel 
double-runner  was  aggravating*  to  us,  it  was 
gall  and  wormwood  to  Mat.  The  thing-  be 
came  a  town  joke;  and  older  folks,  whodid  not 
share  our  grudge  against  Tip  nor  our  awe 
of  our  "Napoleon,"  poked  all  manner  of  fun. 

Suave,  self-satisfied,  Mat  grew  glum  and 
snappish.  Those  of  us  who  ventured  to 
ride  with  Tip — and  it  must  be  confessed 
that  our  patriotism  was  not  always  proof 
against  the  temptation — were  made  to  feel 
the  weight  of  Mat's  displeasure.  Our 
"leader  of  men"  had  not  quite  learned  to 
lead  himself. 

As  we  trudged  up  with  our  sleds  from 
the  depot  one  afternoon,  we  caught  sight  of 
Tip's  outfit  whisking  around  the  tannery 
corner  and  bearing  down  like  a  streak  of 
dark  lightning. 

Mat  was  ahead,  talking  hard  to  young 
Burpee,  who  had  a  long  red-bark  switch  in 
his  hand.  Just  as  the  flying  traverse  was 
close,  the  young  imp  flung  his  stick  down 
across  the  road. 

Quick  as  thought  we  saw  the  act — and 
that  Tip  saw  it,  too.  He  slid  back,  with 
feet  braced  hard  on  the  crosspiece,  and 
swung  the  sled  a  trifle  to  the  right. 

He  was  pale — but  not  half  so  white  as 
Mat,  who  stood  glaring  at  him  like  one  fas- 


328     The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 

cinated.  It  was  right  on  the  last  bridge, 
over  the  big-  fall — that  old  wooden  bridge 
with  its  crazy  railing! 

We  were  too  horror-struck  even  to  cry 
out,  and  there  was  no  sound  from  the  white 
faces  on  the  sled.  I  can  remember  yet  how 
the  great  falls  roared,  as  out  of  a  dead 
hush;  how  Tip's  teeth  showed,  and  that 
the  steering-rope  was  sunk  deep  in  his 
wrists.  How  many  things  made  themselves 
seen  and  felt  in  that  instant  I 

The  sled  struck  the  slender  switch 
exactly  square.  We  looked  to  see  its  occu 
pants  fly  off  into  space;  but,  though  Tip 
was  snapped  forward  until  his  knees 
bruised  his  face,  those  wiry  legs  saved  him 
and  the  rest,  who  were  half  piled  upon  him. 

The  flying  ends  of  the  switch  told  the 
story.  Tip  had  steered  upon  the  slenderer 
end,  and  the  swift,  high-tempered  runners 
had  chopped  it  in  two,  as  was  his  hope,  and 
without  too  great  a  shock. 

Had  the  switch  resisted  never  so  little! 
It  seemed  to  us — and  does  to  me  yet — 
almost  a  miracle  of  escape.  But  for  Tip's 
instant  wit,  the  whole  party  would  have 
broken  their  necks  on  the  hill,  or  crashed 
through  the  rail  to  the  falls. 

That  day  broke  the  back  of  the  Cannon- 
ball  Railroad.  No  one  would  so  much  as 


The  Rebel  Double  Runner.     329 

look  at  Burpee ;  but  we  felt  that  the  respon-. 
sibility  rested  further  back. 

Of  course,  Mat  had  not  told  him  to  throw 
the  switch,  and  doubtless  made  himself 
believe  that  he  had  no  blame  in  the  matter. 
But  the  rest  of  us — well,  even  boys  some 
times  know  how  to  read  between  the  lines. 

Tip  never  opened  his  mouth  about  the 
matter,  and  promptly  stopped  any  at 
tempted  reference  to  it.  He  had  plenty  of 
companions  now,  and  treated  them  in  his 
square-toed  boy  way,  as  though  nothing- 
had  ever  happened. 

A  week  after  the  switch  episode,  the 
crowd,  including  Tip,  was  straggling  up 
the  hill  as  Mat  and  his  few  remaining  satel 
lites  came  down  on  the  "Avalanche."  Just 
as  they  reached  the  grist-mill,  a  loaded 
wood-sledge  stalled  at  the  tannery  corner 
— the  snow  was  soft  that  day.  The  sled 
was,  for  the  same  reason,  not  going  half  so 
fast  as  usual,  but  quite  fast  enough.  Seeing 
the  dangerous  passage  thus  blockaded,  Mat 
began  to  get  panicky,  and  the  sled  wobbled. 

"He's  going  to  jump!"  exclaimed  some 
one.  "Don't!" 

Tip  flung  his  sled-rope  to  me.  "Hold  to 
her,  Mat!"  he  yelled,  standing  at  the  very 
edge  of  the  slide  and  balanced,  catlike.  But 
Mat  did  not  hold  on.  The  "Avalanche" 


330     The  Rebel  Double  Runner. 

slewed  to  one  side,  and  he  leaped  and  went 
plowing1  and  rolling-  fifty  feet  in  the  slush. 
Almost  as  he  struck  the  road,  Tip  had  flung 
himself  headlong  upon  the  steering-seat 
and  caught  the  lines. 

He  was  just  in  time  to  "snub"  the  front 
sled  before  it  could  "turn  cross"  and  make 
a  wreck;  and,  steering  through  the  narrow 
space  between  the  wood-sledge  and  the 
bridge-rail,  he  fetched  up  safely  with  the 
traverse  and  its  four  frightened  boys  on 
the  grade  that  climbs  to  Water  Street. 

That  settled  the  business.  From  that 
day  out,  I  think  no  one  was  ever  heard  to 
mention  anything  that  sounded  like  "Rebel 
double-runner."  It  was  "Tip's  Tornado," 
and  there  wasn't  a  boy  in  town,  except  one, 
but  was  glad  to  ride  on  it — or  to  follow  Tip 
in  anything.  It  was  the  quietest  of  victories, 
but  complete. 


The  Balsa  Boy  of  Lake  Titi-Caca 


The  Balsa  Boy  of  Lake  Titi-Caca. 
I. 

4iT)UT,  hombrote,  thou  art  a  mouthful, 

JD  and  the  lake  is  brave.  Of  me  it 
counts  not,  but  much  eye  to  this  box.  That 
is  the  far-looker  that  makes  the  pictures, 
and  if  it  went  to  the  bogas  or  were  even  wet, 
how  couldst  thou  answer?" 

"There  is  no  care,  Excellency.  More 
than  that  I  am  small,  in  this  lake  I  was  born, 
and  now  I  am  made  to  it.  I  will  not  drown 
your  Excellency,  nor  more  wet  ye  than 
must  be  when  the  lake  is  so.  Trust  me, 
viracocka,  to  put  you  to  the  island  safely. 
And  if  not  then  name  me  Bobo." 

Well,  I  had  to  get  across,  and  that  was  all 
there  was  to  it.  The  island  was  there,  I 
here,  the  miles  of  angry  water  between,  and 
for  bridg-e,  only  this  twelve-year-old  Aymara 
boy  with  his  water-logged  balsa.  I  looked 
out  at  the  whitecaps,  then  at  the  unlikely 
craft,  then  in  Pablo's  eyes. 

"Ba-le,  it  is  well.  Thou  hast  the  heart  of 
a  man.  Hold  her  level  for  the  box." 

333 


334  The  Balsa  Boy 

I  waded  out  through  the  mud  and  rushes, 
waist-deep  in  the  icy  water,  holding  the 
precious  camera  box  on  my  head,  and  be 
tween  us  we  got  it  safely  stowed  abaft  the 
beanpole  mast.  Then  I  scrambled  aboard 
as  best  might  be,  with  Pablo's  helpful  hand 
in  my  collar,  for  the  mud  had  a  trap-like 
clutch  on  my  legs.  Bidding  me  squat  for 
ward,  the  boy  settled  back  on  his  knees  and 
began  to  ply  his  pole.  The  loftiest  great 
lake  in  the  world  has  no  timber  on  its  shores, 
and  with  the  mighty  forests  of  the  Yungas 
five  days  off  no  one  is  going  to  think  of  pad 
dles.  Plain  contorted  poles  of  the  iron  cupi 
are  far  more  easily  brought  over  the  Andean 
passes,  and  they  have  to  suffice. 

Slowly,  with  Pablo  poling  into  the  mud 
behind,  the  clumsy  balsa  slid  through  the 
totora,  whispering as  it  went  with  its  brother 
rushes — for  itself  was  simply  a  great  bun 
dle  of  totora,  totora  bound,  with  totora  sail 
and  sheets.  There  was  no  other  thing 
about  it;  no  nail  nor  cord  nor  wood,  save 
only  the  cupi  mast.  The  mossy  tangle  of 
yachu,  which  feeds  the  cattle  of  Titicaca 
that  graze  all  day  shoulder  deep  in  the  lake, 
hampered  the  soggy  prow  and  fastened 
upon  Pablo's  stick.  Sometimes,  with  that 
and  the  grasping  mud,  I  looked  to  see  him 
dragged  back  overboard.  But  he  wagged 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  335 

the  pole  sharply  and  held  fast  with  his 
knees,  and  always  shook  free.  Decidedly 
his  eyes  were  right  —  the  boy  was  no 
mouse. 

In  ten  minutes  we  pushed  our  nose 
through  the  last  totoral,  and  were  in  the 
open.  The  wind  butted  the  harder  in  our 
face;  the  waves — no  longer  tamed  by  the 
rushen  breakwater  of  the  inshore — came 
running  at  us  like  a  stampede.  The  slow 
prow  kicked  them  and  stumbled  on  them 
and  pounded  them  into  a  coarse  rain  that 
pelted  hard  and  icy.  I  wriggled  out  of  my 
coat  of  oiled  horsehide  and  bound  it  over 
the  camera  box  to  protect  that  from  the 
spray — for  it  had  been  well  strained  by  a 
fall  of  the  pack  mule  in  crossing  the  pass 
of  Sorata,  and  was  no  longer  so  waterproof 
as  might  be  wished.  Pablo  could  now  no 
more  touch  bottom  ;  and  kneeling  a  little 
higher  and  a  little  farther  astern  he  kept 
his  pole  ish-ishing  through  the  water,  pad 
dle  fashion. 

"Give  me,"  I  said,  after  watching  awhile 
the  play  of  the  round  boy-chest.  "  Thou 
art  too  light." 

But  Pablo  sent  down  his  stick  the  harder 
— so  forcibly,  indeed,  that  the  effort  pulled 
that  corner  of  his  mouth  awry  —  and 
grunted : 


33  6  The  Balsa  Boy 

"No,  viracocha;  leave  me.  Your  Excel 
lency  knows  the  paddle  —  that  I  can  see  by 
the  way  you  sit.  But  this  is  different. 
Only  we  of  the  lake  know  its  ways,  which 
are  tricky.  See,  pues!  "  he  sputtered,  as  a 
bucketful  of  water  slapped  us  in  the  face 
and  left  both  gasping-.  "For  here  all  the 
winds  quarrel  from  everyway  at  once  —  as 
if  pushed  by  him  who  was  once  alcalde  of 
Paucarcolla. "  Pablo  crossed  himself,  there 
by  "dropping-  a  stitch  "  in  his  paddling-. 

"What?  The  — er  — him  that  the  Inqui 
sition  pursued?" 

"*SV,  viracocha,  that  same.  And  yonder 
headland  is  where  he  disappeared  in  the 
lake,  for  the  which  none  care  to  tarry  there, 
since  it  is  well  known  that  he  was  the  devil 
in  person,"  and  Pablo  crossed  himself 
ag-ain. 

As  we  cleared  the  Punta  del  Diablo  the 
wind  smote  us  with  renewed  force,  and  with 
every  dip  a  fresh  deluge  drenched  us  to  the 
bone.  But  for  a  few  moments  I  did  not 
think  much  of  that.  With  the  recession  of 
the  headland  the  long  line  of  the  Bolivian 
Andes  came  marching  into  view,  and  I  sup 
pose  that  just  so  wondrous  a  sight  is  no 
where  else.  Captained  by  the  peak  that 
overhangs  Sorata,  the  giant  file  stood  mar 
shaled  seemingly  upon  the  very  beach  of 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  337 

the  vast  blue  lake,  itself  white  with  that 
unspeakable  whiteness  such  as  befalls  no 
other  thing-  on  earth  than  a  far  peak  of  eter 
nal  snow  high  up  a  clear  sky.  Such  a  rank 
of  Titans  —  from  incalculable  Ilia mpu  and 
his  25,000  feet,  off  to  where  his  rival,  Illi- 
mani,  seemed  soaring-  out  of  the  lake  a  hun 
dred  miles  away !  It  was  enoug-h  to  make 
one  forg-et  a  wet  skin  —  and  even  the  pos 
sibility  of  a  wet  camera  box.  How  they 
possessed  the  firmament,  these  sublimated 
presences!  And  how  the  cumuli,  puffing- 
up  from  the  tropic  forests  of  the  Beni,  tan 
g-led  about  their  feet  and  wreathed  upward 
and  dulled  when  their  snow-whiteness 
lapped  the  whiter  snow  of  those  proud 
crests! 

A  sharp  "Umpss!"  from  Pablo  recalled 
me  to  shiver  and  to  look  back.  A  sudden 
flaw  in  the  wind  had  caug-ht  his  stroke  with 
the  full  weig-ht  of  the  balsa,  and  the  iron- 
wood  pole  had  snapped  under  the  cross 
strain.  Pablo  looked  anxious,  but  said  very 
evenly : 

"Pss!  We  must  break  it  off,  viracocha, 
and  use  each  an  end ;  for  in  this  wind  if  we 
keep  not  our  head,  even  a  balsa  will  not  last. 
Being-  angry,  the  lake  pounds  as  one  with 
his  fist." 

Indeed,  it  was  more  like  that  than  any- 


338  The  Balsa  Boy 

thing  else — and  a  most  reiterant  fist,  too. 
Nowhere  else  is  there  such  a  "chop"  as  on 
Lake  Titi-caca  when  the  winds  awake;  and 
I  have  seen  those  who  have  weathered  every 
sea  and  who  laughed  at  the  English  channel 
turned  deathly  seasick  on  one  of  the  wallow 
ing  little  steamers  that  run  from  Puno  to 
Chililaya.  Now  we  were  kicked  about  with 
battering  thumps  that  seemed  like  to  pound 
our  bundle  of  rushes  asunder.  Pablo  was 
straining  and  twisting  at  the  broken  pole, 
to  part  the  wiry  fibers.  I  chopped  at  it  with 
my  heavy,  keen  bowie,  and  at  last  the  stub 
born  strands  yielded;  and  so  each  had  a 
stick  some  five  feet  long.  I  knelt  up  and 
drove  mine  fiercely  down  the  side  while 
Pablo,  astern,  kept  stroke.  We  were  at  it 
none  too  soon.  At  one  time  I  half  fancied 
that  we  never  would  get  her  head  to  the 
wind,  for  the  soggy  craft  answered  slowly 
to  our  eiforts  with  these  pitiful  paddles. 

For  some  minutes  we  tugged  in  silence. 
At  an  altitude  of  12,500  feet  in  Peru  one 
needs  all  one's  breath  for  work — even  the 
Serrano  lad  did.  I  glanced  over  my  shoul 
der  at  him  now  and  then.  His  lips  were 
shut  square,  his  serious  dark  eyes  seemed 
to  be  taking  note  of  everything,  and  the 
slender  muscles  of  his  arms  and  chest — 
clear  drawn  on  the  drenched  shirt — played 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  339 

smoothly.  An  athlete  myself,  and  particu 
larly  taught  in  the  paddle,  I  began  to  feel  a 
respect  which  was  half  awe  for  this  manful 
stripling-  who  toiled  so  soberly  and  shrewdly 
where  only  the  best  foreign  lungs  can  en 
dure  any  exertion  whatever.  And,  at  last, 
little  as  there  was  breath  to  spare,  I  could 
not  help  grunting,  "Estds  lo  mas  hombrote!" 

Pablo's  big  white  teeth  shone  for  an  in 
stant  in  a  sober  smile. 

" So  must  we, "he  answered  calmly.  "For 
here  is  much  to  do,  nor  room  for  lazies — 
for  small  though  they  be.  When  I  was  the 
half  of  this,  my  father  had  me  to  help  on  the 
balsa;  and  once,  even  then,  I  took  it  to 
Puno,  he  being  sick." 

Then  silence  fell  upon  us  again  for  a  time, 
and  we  poled  away  doggedly.  But  presently 
there  seemed  to  me  something  wrong  in 
Pablo's  quiet,  and  I  twisted  my  head  to  look. 
His  stick  was  going  steadily  as  a  machine, 
but  in  his  face  was  what  made  me  call  out 
sharply,  "What  thing?" 

He  thrust  out  his  chin  toward  Illampu.  I 
looked  thither,  and  then  back  at  him,  uncer 
tain. 

"More  wind,'*  he  said, concisely, "Either 
to  get  to  the  island  before  it,  or  "  —  and  the 
Spanish  shrug  said  the  rest  for  him. 

We  did  not  get  to  the  island  before  it 


340  The  Balsa  Boy 

Two  hundred  yards  away  the  gale  struck 
us  and  flattened  the  balsa  into  the  waves 
and  the  waves  into  the  level,  and  was  like 
to  strip  us  bodily  from  our  soaked  craft. 
After  that  nothing-  was  very  clear,  for  the 
winds  and  waves  washed  us  fore  and  aft, 
and  it  was  hard  to  say  which  was  the  colder 
and  more  pitiless;  and  one  saw  ill  for  that 
bitter  pelting-  in  the  face,  and  the  heart 
reeled  with  overwork  to  feed  the  leaping 
lungs.  Bent  forward  till  our  heads  almost 
touched  the  balsa,  our  knees  wedged  hard 
on  the  tiny  roll  which  served  for  gunwale, 
we  dug  away  mechanically  with  those 
nightmares  of  paddles  that  would  carry 
us  nowhere.  Once,  when  my  heart  would 
work  no  more,  I  turned  idly  to  Pablo.  His 
face  was  gray  with  effort,  but  so  sweet  and 
composed  that  I  shouted  out,  half  petu 
lantly  : 

"  Ea!  Hast  thou  not  fear,  hijito?  " 
"How  not?"  he  screamed  back  up  the 
wind.  * '  Am  I  a  fool,  not  to  fear  ?  We  shall 
never  come  there,  perhaps.  Only  if  the 
saints  will!  Promise  a  silver  candlestick, 
seiior! " 

But  in  my  eyes  were  a  blue  eyed  baby  and 
her  mother,  five  thousand  miles  away,  and 
for  that,  my  temper  was  more  to  fight,  with 
shut  teeth,  than  to  be  vowing  candlesticks. 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  34 l 

And  just  then  it  struck  me  to  think,  in  that 
silly  maundering-  of  the  mind  in  stress, 
how  peaceful  Pablo  would  look  when  they 
should  pick  us  up,  and  how  they  would  add: 
"  UmpssI  But  these  gringos  are  of  ill  tem 
per,  no?  " 

For  half  an  hour,  perhaps,  we  doubled  to 
our  sticks,  and  still  the  gale  smote  us,  and 
still  our  marrow  ached  with  the  chill  of  the 
spray.  There  was  no  complaint  of  Pablo. 
He  accepted  fate,  but  still  worked  like 
a  man  —  poised  and  steady  in  the  face  of 
death.  If  we  were  to  end  there,  he  would 
be  found  with  the  little  chapped  fists  still 
clenching-  the  stick.  Once  a  motion  swept 
on  me  to  spring-  back  and  hug- him  and  say: 

"Son,  it  counts  not.  Let  us  meet  it  in 
peace.  Thou  'rt  fit  to  die  with  1 " 

But  then  ag-ain  the  blue  eyes  came  up  in 
the  mist,  and  my  fingers  cracked  on  the 
paddle  and  my  teeth  grated.  And  Pablo,  as 
if  he  understood,  g-ave  me  a  grave,  sweet 
nod.  Further  I  noted  that  he  drew  some 
small  object  from  his  pouch  and  seemed  to 
breathe  on  it. 

It  was  so  near !  In  a  little  eddy  of  the 
wind  I  shook  the  water  from  my  eyes  and 
peered  ahead.  The  northern  point  of  the 
island  was  not  fifty  yards  away  —  and  we 
were  drifting  past.  It  slipped  and  slipped, 


342  The  Balsa  Boy 

for  all  I  dug  savagely  at  the  paddle  and 
Pablo  quickened  his  stroke  with  the  first 
groan  I  had  heard  from  him.  Our  tired 
arms  forgot  their  cramps,  our  lungs  their 
" stitches"  in  a  wild  strain  —  and  still  that 
dark  shore  kept  drawing  to  our  right.  Ah, 
for  the  old  paddle  that  used  to  spin  the 
birch  canoe!  These  accursed  sticks  — 
why,  one  might  as  well  paddle  with  a  poker! 

"  Viracocha  !  "  The  boy's  shrill  voice 
split  the  wind  like  a  fife.  "  The  sail !  " 

I  stared  at  him  stupidly  an  instant. 
"  Thou  hast  the  power, "  he  cried.  "  Break 
it!  Break  it!" 

Then  I  knew,  and  leaped  upon  the  iron- 
wood  mast  as  a  wolf  at  the  throat  of  a  fawn, 
and  clenched  it  and  wrenched  and  beat,  and 
shoved  and  twisted  and  tugged,  and  with 
arms  and  knees  tore  it  loose  from  its  step 
ping  in  the  balsa.  It  well  nigh  racked  the 
rushen  raft  in  twain,  and  we  noticed  that 
the  impact  of  the  waves  no  longer  shook 
the  balsa  as  a  unit,  but  wabbled  and  see 
sawed  it. 

I  caught  the  cupi  under  my  left  arm  and 
clinched  tight  the  "sheets"  of  braided 
totora  around  the  totora  sail,  till  that  was 
bound  in  shape  something  like  a  closed  um 
brella,  and  springing  forward  to  my  station 
stood  and  plied  this  new  paddle  with  frantic 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  343 

energy.  It  was  unwieldy  and  floppy,  but 
it  had  more  resistance  than  the  pole,  and 
slowly  —  so  slowly  that  at  first  we  dared  not 
believe  it  —  the  sullen  craft  began  to  an 
swer.  New  hope  came  in  us,  and  we  shouted 
"  Arrel  Drive ! "  and  bent  till  the  muscles 
creaked.  Now,  even  in  Pablo's  face,  was 
the  fierce  light  of  combat. 

And  so  we  made  the  shore.  In  the  lee  of 
the  point  the  water  was  so  still  that  it 
seemed  a  yard  lower  than  its  surrounding- 
level.  A  lone  tuft  of  totora  grew  near  the 
shore,  and  when  we  came  to  it  I  fell  on  my 
face  along  the  balsa  and  clutched  the  pithy 
stalks ;  and  there  we  lay  at  that  frail  anchor 
age  till  heart  and  lungs  came  back  in  me. 
Then,  poling  nearer,  I  stepped  over  the  side 
and  landed  the  camera;  and  came  back  and 
gathered  in  my  arms  a  limp  bundle,  whose 
head  drooped  upon  my  shoulder,  and  so 
waded  heavily  up  the  beach  of  Sicuya. 

II. 

There  was  nothing  on  the  island  for  a 
good  fire  —  indeed,  in  all  that  vast  plateau, 
so  lofty  and  so  cold,  one  learns  the  art  of 
shivering  to  perfection,  for  fuel  is  enor 
mously  scarce.  After  an  hour's  work  I 
had  assembled  a  tiny  heap  of  dry  rushes 
from  the  beach,  and  bunch  grass  and  a  few 


344  The  Balsa  Boy 

straggling  bushlets.  The  tinder,  in  its  oil 
cloth  pouch,  with  the  flint  and  steel,  was 
dry,  and  presently  we  had  a  swift,  ephem 
eral  blaze.  It  was  nothing-  to  dry  us,  but 
served  briefly  to  toast  our  hands  and  feet 
and  take  off  a  little  of  that  ghastly  chill. 
The  camera  was  all  right,  and  I  resumed 
the  horsehide  coat,  buttoning-  it  to  my  chin 
to  pay  for  the  woolen  shirt  which  I  had  lent 
Pablo.  As  the  darkness  came  on  our  poor 
little  fire  died  away.  We  scraped  a  trough 
in  the  gravel  and  lay  down  in  it  spoon 
fashion,  my  arms  around  Pablo's  chest,  and 
so  wore  out  the  night. 

We  were  chilled  and  stiff  and  half  inani 
mate  when  the  sluggard  sun  peeped  over 
the  far  peaks  of  Apolobamba,  and  got  up 
like  old  men.  But  even  the  light  was  cheer 
ing;  and  presently  a  soft  glow  began  to 
tame  the  bitter  air  and  we  ran  clumsily  and 
danced  about  and  swung  our  arms  till  the 
blood  went  free  again  in  its  forgotten  chan 
nels.  Pablo  was  all  right  now  —  a  boy  is  a 
hard  thing  to  kill,  and  particularly  an  out 
doors  boy  —  and  chatted  leisurely  and  calm 
ly,  as  was  his  way. 

"But  to  eat!"  I  broke  in  on  one  of  his 
stories,  when  we  were  fairly  limbered  up 
in  body  and  mind.  "Is  there  gente  on  the 
island?" 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  345 

"Nobody.  I  think  the  Ancients  were 
here  once,  for  up  yonder  I  have  seen  a 
strong-  wall.  But  none  come  here  now  — 
not  even  seeking-  treasure,  which  must  be 
here." 

"Bother  the  treasure!  What  we  want 
now  is  food,  even  if  it  were  only  llama 
meat ;  for  in  purity  of  truth  I  'm  falling 
with  hung-er.  Let  us  hunt." 

"  There  will  be  ducks,  pues>  over  in  the 
cove.  Vamos!" 

Ducks  there  were,  by  the  hundred;  and 
mudhens,  and  dippers,  and  flaming-oes,  and 
almost  every  other  aquatic  fowl,  among-  the 
rushes  in  the  eastern  cove.  With  the  shot 
gun  we  could  have  mowed  down  a  bushel  of 
them — but  the  shotgun  was  lying  with  my 
sleeping  bag  and  rawhide  muleback  trunks 
over  in  a  hut  on  the  mainland.  Well,  with 
the  six-shooter  we  could  count  on  one  bird, 
anyhow;  and  I  drew  it  and  began  to  rub 
off  last  night's  rust. 

"But  wait  me,"  said  the  little  balsero. 
"It  is  better  not  to  frighten  them,  for  we 
may  need  more  than  one.  With  this  there 
is  no  noise." 

As  he  spoke  he  unwound  the  braided 
sling  which  bound  his  long  black  hair.  It 
was  the  immemorial  weapon  of  his  people 
— even  so  I  had  taken  it  from  the  skulls  of 


346  The  Balsa  Boy 

mummies  of  his  ancestors  far  antedating 
the  Conquest.  Pablo  gathered  some  smooth 
pebbles  from  the  beach  and  began  creeping 
toward  the  cove,  sheltering  himself  when 
ever  a  bunch  of  totora  offered.  The  water 
fowl  began  to  edge  out,  and  a  few  nervous 
ducks  rose.  But  the  boy  knew  his  business 
and  kept  on  at  the  same  gait.  Suddenly 
straightening  up,  he  whirled  his  right  arm 
thrice  around,  and  even  from  where  I  was 
I  could  hear  a  twang,  and  then  the  sh-oo-oo 
of  the  hurtling  pebble. 

There  was  a  commotion  among  the  birds, 
and  a  great  white  swan  stretched  and  half 
rose  from  the  water  and  dropped  back  in  a 
shower  of  spray.  Pablo  was  already  in  the 
water,  keeping  out  of  sight  all  but  his  head, 
and  in  a  couple  of  rods  that  also  disap 
peared.  The  swan  suddenly  redoubled  its 
struggles,  beating  one  wing  till  the  water 
foamed,  but  without  progress.  Then  it 
began  to  drift  shoreward,  still  fighting ;  and 
in  a  moment  I  saw  a  dark  object  rise  just  in 
front  of  it.  The  swan  saw,  too,  and  aimed 
a  stunning  blow  with  its  wing.  But  the 
head  had  already  vanished  and  the  scream 
ing  bird  kept  moving  shoreward  despite 
his  struggles.  Then  I  waited  so  long  that 
it  seemed  impossible  that  one  should  so  en 
dure  under  water,  when  the  swan's  violent 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  347 

pecking-  at  his  breast  relieved  me.  Pablo, 
to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  that  heavy  wing 
and  beak,  was  holding-  the  great  bird  firmly 
down  upon  the  crown  of  his  head,  and  when 
it  was  needful  to  take  a  breath  he  could  thus 
g-et  his  nose  out  of  water  without  seriously 
exposing-  himself.  It  was  when  he  should 
come  where  the  water  was  but  a  couple  of 
feet  deep  that  trouble  would  beg-in,  and  al 
ready  I  judged  that  he  was  lying-  upon  his 
back  and  kicking-  along-  the  mud.  Time 
after  time  a  dark  fist  came  up  to  grapple 
that  snake-like  neck,  but  the  bird  was  too 
smart  and  the  captor  got  only  savage  bites 
for  his  pains.  I  ran  out  to  help,  and  the 
swan  met  me  with  a  peck  that  took  a  mor 
sel  off  my  hand ;  but  a  back  sweep  of  the 
bowie  sent  the  head  flying  twenty  feet,  and 
after  a  little  more  flopping  the  great  fowl 
fell  limp.  The  missile  from  the  sling  had 
shattered  his  left  wing. 

Well,  when  Pablo  had  warmed  himself  in 
the  scorching  sun,  and  we  had  gathered  an 
other  bunch  of  dry  weeds  and  more  or  less 
plucked  the  bird  and  half  toasted  thin  strips 
of  it  in  the  embers,  and  devoured  each  a 
wolf's  share,  we  felt  better.  Perhaps  we 
swallowed  quite  as  much  ashes  as  meat, 
and  salt  would  have  helped  it  —  but  it  was  a 
wonderful  banquet,  anyhow.  "We  washed 


34-8  The  Balsa  Boy 

it  down  with  drafts  from  the  ill-tasting- 
lake,  and  I  dried  a  brown-paper  cigarette 
on  a  sunny  rock  until  it  was  smokable,  and 
for  a  while  we  wallowed  in  the  hot  sun  and 
watched  the  drift  of  shadows  on  Illampu, 
which  had  snared  all  the  clouds  from  the 
sky. 

"  Pues,  the  pictures.  And  then,  to  get 
back  to  shore,"  I  said  at  last,  getting-  up  re 
luctantly.  Pablo  was  greatly  interested  in 
that  wonderful  glass  in  its  shining  tube, 
and  marveled  at  the  unkinking  of  the  tripod 
and  how  the  whole  artful  box  opened  and 
swelled  at  a  touch.  We  carried  it- to  the  top 
of  the  hill,  and  I  made  my  pictures  and 
showed  him  the  inverted  gem  of  color  on 
the  ground  glass  and  explained  it  all  to  him 
in  the  formula  I  learned  long  ago  for  Indian 
friends,  to  whom  one  has  to  adapt  one's  own 
point  of  view.  Then  he  took  me  to  the  ruin 
—  some  fallen  houses  and  a  strong  wall  of 
great  rocks  wonderfully  squared  and  carved, 
and  we  made  a  picture  there,  with  tattered 
Pablo  standing  beside  the  noble  handiwork 
of  his  fathers.  Unhappily,  the  plate  fell 
a  victim  to  the  abominable  dampness  of 
Lima. 

"If  we  had  but  a  spade,"  sighed  Pablo, 
who  went  scuffing  his  toes  in  the  rubbish  of 
the  forgotten  rooms.  "  What  says  the  vira- 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  349 

cocha  ?  Shall  we  come  back  one  day  and  dig- 
here?  For  surely  there  will  be  treasure. 
Over  yonder,  toward  that  island,  is  where 
they  say  the  Incas  sunk  the  chain  of  Huas 
car,  that  the  Spaniards  might  not  find  it. 
And  many  have  looked  for  it,  and  some  even 
talk  to  drain  the  lake." 

" I  can  see  them  draining-  Titi-caca I  But 
come,  what  was  this  chain  of  Huascar?  "  I 
asked,  as  seriously  as  if  this  were  all  news 
to  me. 

"  Mppss  1  It  was  of  g-old,  then  —  pure 
gold.  For  when  Huascar  Inca  was  born 
his  father,  HuaynaCapac,  ordered  made  this 
chain  of  gold,  three  hundred  paces  long- and 
the  fatness  of  my  thumb,  that  the  people 
mig-ht  dance  holding  it.  Ay,  if  one  might 
find  it !  Sometimes,  looking-  over  the  balsa, 
I  have  thought  to  see  that  shining-  on  the 
bottom,  but  then  it  was  only  a  boga  turning- 
to  the  sun." 

"Ea,  and  what  wouldst  thou,  hijito,  find 
ing-  this  chain  of  Huascar?  " 

"  Yo?  Mpps,  Vuesencia,  I  would  —  mppss 
—  I  would  buy  the  balsa  of  Jeraldo,  which 
is  very  good ;  and  three  pigs  and  a  cow  for 
my  mother,  and  a  net;  and — >and —  and  — 
boots  like  those  of  your  Excellency " 

"Good!  And  I  hope  thou 'It  find  it.  I 
mind  me  that  an  Inca,  Don  Garcilaso  de  la 


35°  The  Balsa  Boy 

Vega,  who  wrote  a  book  two  hundred  and 
ninety  years  ago  —  sabes  book?  Well,  it  is 
much  paper  tied  together  —  much  spoiled 
paper,  with  words  on  it.  And  this  Inca  said 
that  the  chain  of  Huascar  was  thrown  into 
the  little  lake  in  the  valley  of  Orcos,  which 
the  Spaniards  did  indeed  try  to  drain.  But 
Garcilaso  said  many  things  —  particularly 
in  December  when  the  days  are  long  —  and 
I  fancy  thou  'rt  as  like  to  find  the  chain  in 
this  lake  as  in  any  other." 

"But  the  paper,  se'or,  how  can  it  tell 
these  things?'' 

"  Pues,  because  we  make  paper  that  talks 
—  not  out  loud,  but  telling  you  things  with 
out  a  sound.  And  sometimes  it  knows  how 
to  lie,  just  like  people." 

"Perhaps  it  was  not  Don  Garcilaso's 
fault,  then  —  it  can  be  that  he  got  that  kind 
of  paper.  For  I  know  the  chain  is  in  this 
lake  here,  of  Titi-caca,  since  my  grand 
father  told  me,  and  he  knew  from  very  long 
ago.  He  was  taught  in  all  the  stories  of  our 
fathers,  and  he  gave  me  this  auqui  of  old 
for  a  charm.  Perhaps  for  that  we  were  not 
swallowed  by  the  lake.'* 

So  saying,  Pablo  drew  from  his  left-hand 
pouch  a  precious  little  fetich  of  silver,  ages 
old,  for  there  is  no  mistaking  the  prehistoric 
handiwork  of  Peru.  It  was  in  rude  human 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  35 T 

form,  and  not  cast,  but  hollow,  beaten  out 
and  cupped  and  soldered  so  cleverly  that 
one  could  scarce  find  the  joint. 

ltllola!  He  was  an  abuelo  worth  having*. 
Come,  I'll  give  thee  ten  50/^5  for  it,  for  I 
shall  need  an  auqui  myself  if  I  am  to  stay  in 
these  lands  of  ill  luck." 

But  Pablo  shook  his  head,  though  I  am 
positive  he  never  had  seen  so  much  money 
in  one  pile  before  as  the  ten  silver  dollars  in 
my  hand. 

"Ha-niiva  /"he  said.  "For  it  is  ill  to 
sell  these  things,  which  are  sacred."  He 
breathed  on  the  image  and  tucked  it  care 
fully  back  in  his  chuspa. 

The  balsa,  still  nodding  at  the  rush  en 
cable,  was  soon  repaired  by  Pablo's  apt 
hands  with  a  few  withes  of  totora.  We 
stepped  the  mast  again,  as  well  as  might  be, 
in  its  torn  socket,  hoisted  the  rush  sail,  and 
drew  slowly  out  in  a  light  breeze.  It  was  a 
very  different  passage  from  that  of  yester 
day,  and  we  sprawled  lazily  along  the  balsa, 
looking  back  now  to  the  vast  white  peaks, 
and  now  to  the  weedy  shore  ahead.  We 
crept  through  the  outer  fringe  of  totora, 
passing  far  to  the  left  of  a  little  stone  hut 
that  seemed  built  upon  the  very  water  a 
mile  from  shore.  A  few  sad  cattle  lay  about 
it,  only  their  heads  out  of  water;  and  nearer 


3S2  The  Balsa  Boy 

us,  on  a  submerged  bar,  a  gristly  pig-  seemed 
undecided  whether  he  had  better  root  or 
swim.  It  was  Pablo's  home,  he  told  me — 
a  fair  type  of  the  pitiful  swamp  ranches  of 
the  lake  dwellers.  In  the  shoals  they  build 
their  squalid  huts  and  raise  the  unkempt 
cattle  which  know  no  other  pasturage — as 
their  owners  no  other  world. 

When  we  came  to  the  head  of  the  bay  and 
had  waded  ashore  with  the  camera,  we 
stood  a  long  time  in  the  mud  looking  back 
at  the  blue  lake  and  the  dark  island.  I  was 
sore  and  hungry,  and  with  much  to  do;  but, 
somehow,  it  was  hard  to  turn  away.  Pablo 
stood  screwing  his  bare  toes  into  the  ooze,  in 
as  little  haste  to  be  off. 

"And  will  your  Excellency  come  again?'* 
he  said  at  last,  catching  my  eye  and  then 
turning  away. 

41  Who  knows,  hijito  ?  To-morrow  I  take 
mule  for  the  Desaguadero.  Perhaps  some 
day.  But  much  eye  that  thou  have  a  new 
balsa  ready  against  then,  for  this  is  too  old. 
And  here  is  wherewith  to  buy  Jeraldo's, 
without  waiting  to  find  the  chain  of  Huas- 
car.  Adios,  then,  and  —  un  abrazo!  " 

He  reached  up  to  my  shoulders  and  laid 
his  head  against  me  with  a  little  tug,  and 
suddenly  broke  away  and  started  for  the 


of  Lake  Titi-Caca.  353 

balsa.     Midway  he  stopped  and  turned  and 
came  splashing  back. 

"Hear,  viracocha"  he  said,  with  a  little 
uncertainty  in  his  voice.  "I  could  not  sell 
the  auqui,  for  it  is  not  honest  to  take  money 
for  sacred  things.  But  one  who  goes  so  far 
as  your  Excellency,  and  in  many  dangers, 
ought  indeed  to  have  one  to  keep  harm 
from  him.  And  for  that  you  —  that  —  that 
we  were  brothered  in  danger  and  you  did 
not  despise  me,  now  I  give  you."  And 
flinging  the  precious  figure  at  my  feet,  be 
fore  I  could  gather  my  wits  he  was  spatter 
ing  out  to  the  balsa.  Nor  would  he  return. 
Ten  minutes  later,  when  I  looked  back  from 
the  hut  where  my  things  were  stored,  the 
drab  patch  of  his  sail  had  quite  faded  in  the 
totoraL 


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